Tuesday, January 30, 2007

February 2007

Featured this month: Graeme King from Australia, Gary Beck from New York and a new section: Editor's Poem of the Month

Graeme King


I used to howl at the moon
but when I listened just now
it was screamed obscenities
or were they addressed
to the cream-colored spade
I used to dig this black hole?

An old tree whispers in the breeze
but tells no secrets
simply hisses its sympathy
as I bow to the wind of the world
trying not to break
lest all of my beliefs
forsake me (now that I need them)
in my hour of grief.

I used to laugh with the birds
but when I listened just now
it was absurd derision
a jealousy of the freedom
to wing away from nests that bleed and fall.

A wise owl tutors from the bough
but gives no answers
merely voices an opinion
as I dance a funeral march
stepping on the shells
of eggs that hatched in the dark
as hell shows its grimace:
hieroglyphics in the bark.


I closed my eyes
for a fleeting moment
I swear I simply blinked
but when I woke
on some other planet
trees were all extinct!

I looked around
at the concrete pathways
that once led down to sea
but they were carcked
and I tripped and tumbled
people laughed at me!

I fell into
an indelible black hole
where forest once had grown
and went insane
at the frightened silence
all the birds had flown!

I tried to breathe
but had no credit card
to access open air
so wrote a poem
but a thought policeman
warned me: don't you dare!

I blinked again
and the vision faded
today came tripping by
my tears were real
as I looked around me
and watched the planet die!

Graeme is the owner, moderator and very talented contributor of KingPoets Poetry Club. He resides in Australia and you can find out more about him and his amazing talent at www.kingpoetry.com

Gary Beck

My Country

Across this once flourishing land
corporate entities despoil
the water and the air we breathe.
Masters of anonymity
until captured in wrongdoing,
then they're flayed in the media,
but exposure doesn't stop them.
Another felon replaces them,
the sacrifice to public wrath.
Brief is the public memory
and we're encouraged to forget
all ills by unctuous newscasters,
who outdo bread and circus
erasing concern with diversion
for twentyfour/seven brainwash,
until we accept anything
our economic masters do,
regardless of the consequence.
So they buy pollution credits
from less efficient polluters
in order to keep polluting
and we accept this lunacy,
as we accept other madness
with indifferent resignation.

Vast Seas

once again adrift
among your wreckage,
I cross stormy passages,
chartless, more fragile
than sailors of old,
whose tiny wooden hopes
made miraculous transit
on kindless seas.
O voyagers who turn back,
I know your fears.
I recognize your hazards,
but foretell your craven end,
unwilling mariners.

Gary Beck's poetry has appeared in dozens of literary magazines. His recent fiction has been published in other mags. His plays and translations of Moliere, Aristophanes and Sophocles have been produced Off-Broadway. He resides in New York City.

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