Tuesday, September 10, 2024

KV Poem

 

For KV

 

If we are all unstuck in time,

Then why are we still here

Looking at another sunset

With our binocular brains.

 

Most days I can only think

In miles of time,

The carpenter’s unspooling

Measuring tape.

 

And when we come

Back together,

I can see those miles

Like sagging muscles.

 

The blade is dull.

The song is sad.

The light gives way.

We cannot stay.

Sunday, September 1, 2024

Baseball Poem

 

No Synonym for Catcher

 

He was our catcher, ten years old,

No bigger than a third grader.

His chest protector reached the ground

And he moved into odd positions

To frame the target, knees on the ground,

Or turned a little sideways

Opening and closing the mitt

Sometimes waiting till the last minute

To bring it out in front.

Our ace pitcher didn’t care.

His minor league pitcher daddy

Had taught him to hit spots

With a blazing fastball,

He was six feet tall,

A tremendous curve

He could throw in any count

And the second half of the season

The first knuckleball we had seen.

They had no signals.

The catcher could snag anything

And threw from a crouch like a man.

He had black hair and dark skin.

His people were from Indian country,

And he swam every day in the summer.

And he talked the trash you’d expect

From the son of raging alcoholics.

The little guy had a husky voice

And he chattered non-stop at the hitters.

He’d broken a tooth on the diving board

And had a replacement that he could

Pop out with his tongue

And he would do it on a big pitch

When the batter looked back

Or down at him and he smiled

That charismatic smile that

Would one day win all the women

In the offices on his sales route

And no one would have guessed

That he was already damaged then,

That there was a pitch coming

That he could not catch.a

Sunday, August 18, 2024

Sunday Every Day Pome

 

Close Reading

 

Poems created purely to survive a close reading

We must interrogate everything, said

Every poet I have known is writing

The same poem over and over

Every poet thinks he/she is better than Billy Collins

Let me show you how I left out a word

How I crossed the swamp on a trestle

How every story is a hustle

Even interrogate the interrogation, said

Black kettle made from beaten metal

The idea is to never settle

Baseball Pome Process

  Process “What is your writing process? The workshop attendee asked.   The baseball poet is at double play depth Waiting for a hard bouncin...