My words float on air, an
Air sharply chill, with an appetite
For malice laced with anomie, for
Gestures tightly wound, for attention
Upstanding yet lurking under good
Clouds. My words float on air or
Collapse into a nova that feels so bad.
Source: An Appetite for Attention, Good or Bad
When you told me you’d
Be leaving, it would have been better
For you to go without speaking. You do not
Show true kindness when you try
An elaborate apology. This
Offer of solicitude betrays anxiety in
A pretty glass bottle, a perfume of your
Hypocrisy more suitable to a political workplace.
Source: You’d Better Not Try This in Your Workplace
For National Poetry Month I will try to write a poem a day using the golden shovel form. This form takes a line of text, usually from a poem, and write your own poem with the first word of the text becoming the last word of the first line of your poem, the second word of the text becoming the last word of the second line of your poem, and so on. I will be using New York Times headlines as my source material, inspired by a New York Times suggestion in the middle of the pandemic.
On a sunny day in April, for
Children and oldsters tired of the cold, some
Take their political signs that show GOP
Support, while others’ signs are from voters
Who oppose. Diehards feel no fatigue
In the fight for justice. What slows
Is the endless fight against the rich, who rush
To grab the most, leaving scraps to
Trickle down to the rest of us, our back
Against the wall, wanting to ignore the ex-president.
Source: For Some GOP Voters, Fatigue Slows Rush to Back Ex-president.
