Art & Culture

Writings & Musings

Learning to love poetry.


Most of us first had our first experience with poetry early on, most likely in grade school.

We hated it!

​It was boring, tedious and down right unintelligible. As we got older we learned to read Frost, and Sandburg, and maybe Yates and Auden. If we persisted we got the beat poets, then the concrete poets and later the works of William Carlos Williams and Lucille Clifton.

Now poetry, like many of the arts, has taken a step forward again, sometimes pursuing new boundaries and other times becoming documentary or even life ordering… and life altering.


harry blatt

harry blatt sat back /soft chair in the
shade drank from a bottle wrapped in
a brown paper bag / took a swallow /
glanced around / took another \ put
his head back stopped motionless the
sun baking flies flying blatt looked to
be dreaming\ dead \ or asleep fact he
was none of those things was remarkable

Open the gates
present the flag
release the lions
honor the sun
hide
the women & children
our day is beginning

harry blatt wondered about looking
into the sun \ thought “is it dangerous
or just another fibber-tale” tried it the
reason he sat so still stunned him but
nothing more released the fear of
fable gave him a new outlook to use
when partitioning his inner
dialogue…………..

​i don’t remember anymore what
happened after that

fire\flies

wed to darkness
through the heart
of summer
a million
tiny lights
still there
battling
night’s quiet
air
she watches
inside
screened window
deciding who she
will become…

for my sweetheart Melody

Nine-Eleven

Its so long ago many don’t remember 
even those that can
Feel almost nothing not now
We stood all of us                                                                        
All of us together                                                                         
bearing  broken                            
hearts / lost dreams                                                                   
Uncomplicated                                                                             
Forgivable offenses
Bodies left families
smoke of lost innocents
leaving for tomorrow maybe
but not for today
all we knew was to cry
and we did that
hoping it might make this
matter

Remembrance for Regisford
(Rockaway Beach c.1948)

for a single minute the sun went
behind a single cloud in an
otherwise cloudless sky
refuge in cold-no-longer drinks
and tunafish sandwiches
wrapped in something called wax
paper/ which did nothing to
protect against sand & blowing
wind-dust
colored towels and rubber shoes
lined the shade made by the
orange & blue umbrella
the cooler dripping sweat took
advantage of it too cloth chairs
that folded had been dragged the
two streets to the beach / through
deep sand
and blowing chairs weighing
more than several of their young
sitters were lined
in order of importance with the
pater familia in the center all
others branching out from him
children screamed  an old radio
with batteries carried a ball game
interrupted by static and
imbedded sand a grandma
picked through
the cooler for a sandwich for the
babies and from the great blue
ocean came a dripping uncle +
laughing older cousin
Zadie held peter upright using a
hand in a hand for balance while
both
their hats kept away the sun-
shine they came for but
dreaded…

I am a teacher

I am a teacher/
My student
told me
today
his mother has
cancer
I looked into
his small eyes
this was no joke
I wonder how young
people
Adjust their lives to
grave situations
simply agreeing
To continue on
&
how we old-folks
Shrug and sigh
and let the news roll
Over our souls
like warm water
over
Xmas ice

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