poetry

Every day for many years, Tyler Knott Gregson has written a simple haiku about love, and posted it online. Since 2009, his poetry has attracted hundreds of thousands of online followers from around the world. His new book, All The Words Are Yours, presents Tyler’s favorite haiku poems, some previously unpublished, accompanied by his signature photographs, which capture the rich texture of daily life. This collection follows his first book, Chasers of the Light: Poems from the Typewriter Series, which was published in 2014

'Life at the pace of Secola'

Feb 29, 2016
Secola
Sam Manno

Jet black, coal black, midnight black now unassuming but present.  Her walk strained, each step deliberate. Last winter her urine stained the snow red (ish) (brown).

Once a queen; at our last visit her herd no longer (recognizable); the favorite of Evelyn, not a favorite.

She outlived her usefulness (there), now just another to feed, emotions do not factor in
in a practical life.

Her life wrestled from death…from a bullet passing through the back of her skull to her mouth.

'Soul'

Feb 15, 2016
Cover Art: Russell Chatham "Hayfields on the Cottonwood Bench," 2004. Oil, 36" x 48". / Copper Canyon Press

My spirit is starving.
How can it be fed?
Not by pain in the predictable future
nor the pain in the past
but understanding the invisible flower
within the flower that tells it what is,
the soul of the tree that does the same.
I don't seem to have a true character
to discover, a man slumped on his desk
dozing at midmorning. I'm an old poet.
That's it. Period. A three-legged goat
in mountain country. It's easier in the woods
where you have trees to lean on. There at times
I smelled bears right behind the cabin

'Happy Hour'

Jan 25, 2016
Snowshoe Photography - Alaska's Photostream

I always forget the name,
delphinium,
even though it was the flower

the hummingbirds
loved best. They came in pairs—sleek,
emerald-bright

heads, the clockwork machinery
of their blurred wings
thrumming swift, menacing engines.

They slipped their beaks.
as if they were swizzle sticks, deep
into the blue

'Right'

Jan 18, 2016

The other one has tried to reach it
across the ocean of the shoulder,
tried to stop it from hitting, from sending
a man to death with a scribbled word.

The body wishes it would listen
more to the body, refuse for once
this urge to travel an alley without
eye, tongue, or the two versatile feet.

The heart, tomorrow, will have her way
with it. Like the bones of the rib cage,
so birds of the air. The river will turn
in its path, the blue ground angle up,

'Every Place I've Ever Lived Is Gone'

Jan 4, 2016
Cazz

pecan groves outside of Lafayette,
the pine woods north of Spokane,

the field by my house where the snow piled deep,
where a snow owl passed so silently and low

it changed my idea of ghosts—
now they're stores,

and neighborhoods named after trees,
and spillover parking for a church,

and maybe the choir sings hymns so beautifully
it's fine; I'll call it the future, agree that it's bright.

But west of Washtucna, Washington,
the highway stretches through the dark...

"Dear John Letter - Christmas 2015"

Dec 28, 2015
Jonathan Cohen

Dear John:
I just played your Christmas song,
first your peace version
recorded with Yoko in Montreal,
then the unofficial one with snowy landscapes,
fire lit hearths,
joyful faces,
and one soldier, grey faced, alone,
walking in a war zone...

So this is Christmas 2015:
same carousel,
old and new wars right here at home,
recharged guns,
and children dying in the deranged streets.

And nights silent in snowdrifts
under a single star,
bullets, and promises broken in Bethlehem.

"Before I Go"

Dec 21, 2015
tymesynk

I want to say the guacamole was pleasant,
metallic and viscous, and the ornamentation,
while excessive, contributed a certain vagueness
to the otherwise overly-managed event. For instance,
the various proposals concerning the movement
of shoulders and hips; the recent prohibition
of leaning-beside-the-punch-bowl; the manic outbursts
of praise near the X-mas tree. For that matter,
the damaging claims made by carolers, the rigid order
for the revelation of gifts, the marked lack of scholarship

Poetry Club On 'Pea Green Boat'

Dec 10, 2015

It's rare to hear live poetry readings anymore. Unless of course you tune in to "Pea Green Boat" once a month for poetry club. Marcia, Barbara, Marylor & Annie Garde share recent finds and old classics that are sure to appeal to kids of all ages.

"I Lost My Job & Wrote This Poem"

Dec 7, 2015
ClarkCountry.gov

No longer will I swallow hard boiled
instructions. No longer smile at
people I’d like to bite.
Today I am free.
Today I am Mick Jagger’s lips.
Today I am Kerouac’s touchdown in Lowell ’39.
Today I’m Jack Kennedy—ich bin ein unemployed!

There will be time later for assassins.
Today I am Lenin arriving at Finland Station
Napoleon back from Egypt.
Today I am Neville Chamberlain’s peace
Timothy Leary’s PhD
Joplin’s vocal chords
I am used up—but new
and yesterday was my last day of work.

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