Category Archives: Poetry

The Edge of Darkness (with the Muse)

Photo by Kat Myrman

the edge of darkness

there’s a place
where the old,
the abandoned,
the persecuted
disappear into
shadows, there,
at the edge of
truth…I won’t
tell you where
the dark meets
the light, and
I won’t tell you why
I listen, in times
like these, to trees


A Blackout Poem based on today’s Poem of the Day at Poetry Foundation, “What Kind of Times Are These” by Adrienne Rich. The theme on the Muse’s mind, it would seem is all about trees today…and the current state of things. it is so interesting how that happens. I hadn’t looked up the poem of the day until after I had spent time with today’s tetractys and the sapling growing in a bucket in my back yard. Strange indeed.

What Kind of Times Are These
by Adrienne Rich

There’s a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.

I’ve walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don’t be fooled
this isn’t a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,
our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of making people disappear.

I won’t tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods
Meeting(s) the unmarked strip of light
ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.

And I won’t tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these
to have you listen at all, it’s necessary
to talk about trees.


May Day 16

an allegory

bucket bound,
never to be
a tree, fated by the whim of a breeze


There is an old bucket on my back porch with a bit of dirt in the bottom. A few years ago it was home to a thriving tomato plant. This year however, the seed from a nearby tree had the misfortune to land in it. I noticed it this morning, happily sprouting, thriving even, inasmuch as a root bound tree can. But it will never be a tree unless someone intervenes and transplants it into the ground where its roots can run deep. It made me think about children born into poverty. Their birth is a random twist of the fates. We are not all equally advantaged from the start. For each child to realize their full potential a certain amount of intervention may be called for. When we deny this fact, by telling them to try harder, to work harder, or to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, we’re denying the reality of the “bucket”.

Poetry form for the month of May: Tetractys/5 lines/syllable count 1-2-3-4-10.

May Day 15

a time to grieve…

whether or not…
for tender hearts, anger oft’ turns inward


The five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

Poetry form for the month of May: Tetractys/5 lines/syllable count 1-2-3-4-10.

May Day 14

hypocratic boast

them all
trembling heartbeat…
deny their humanity at the gates


The religious right conservatives republicans are at it again; passing their so-called heartbeat laws in line with their radical pro-life agendas…meanwhile children are still separated and being held in cages (at least three have died) at our southern border, Detroit still does not have safe drinking water, our children have been forced to defend themselves to confront deadly shooters in their classrooms to…some becoming tragic heroes, healthcare is once again on the chopping block, and our teachers struggle to make ends meet while educating our children. Pro-life you say? Don’t tell me how pro-life you are…show me by cherishing life once it has breath!

Poetry form for the month of May: Tetractys/5 lines/syllable count 1-2-3-4-10.

May Day 13

the gloaming

dusk slips
into night
it is quiet
but for the leaves whispering in the breeze


Poetry form for the month of May: Tetractys/5 lines/syllable count 1-2-3-4-10.

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