“Poetry is dead.”
Dead my ass.
Poetry never died
just the poets
and even back when the genre
was hot
only a handful broke the mold.
In bed reading Prose. and thinking about the famous phrase, whether used bitterly
or
ironically for gain
-Poetry is Dead-
Lying here in bed
reading some damn good
poetry by "unknowns"
lying here minutes from Mexico
the mountains out the window
cold and bright with sun
at their peaks
the sound of the street coming
alive with tourists
thoughts of coffee
of poetry
the new poets
reaching for me
touching me
through a screen
on a phone
bookstores down there still
sold out of Cummings,
Eliot, Plath, Neruda, Frost.
Bukowski's corpse still raking
it in.
The magazines and online
presences of poetry
the new blood I read
on Prose.
The novelists, scribblers, story tellers, bloggers, beginners, professionals, old and salty writers pervasive across genres,
and,
yes,
the poetry:
as alive as it ever was
or more.
new writers
cropping up
with just as much
to say as the heroes
or more.
the mountains
out there
breaking through
the low clouds
reaching through
haze
to touch
new
light.
I’m Over You
When days go by and I never see your face, it's easy to say that I'm over you.
When weeks pass and I never hear your voice, it's easy to say that I'm over you.
When months draw on and I never feel your touch, it's easy to say that I'm over you.
But when our eyes meet for the first time in years, it's easy to see that I lied.
A Library
The happiest thing I can possibly imagine is me, living in a library. There would be all my favorite books there, and all my yet to come favorite books. I would read all day! And maybe all night, too. My library would be in the woods. I would be able to read with the trees. I would dive into my books like you, reader, would into a pool. Adventures would surround me constantly. But I would not only read; I would also have a Writing Corner where I wrote books. I would sell them, but I would also keep a copy too. My library would be very small; but then again, smaller is cozier. I would not be lonely because I would have friends come and stay with me. They could do what they wanted; hike in the woods or read/write with me. It would be wonderful! Just me, my friends, and my library.