Ezra Pound Manifesto

The passion’s free without pentameter. The word, more than the sum of all its parts. Oppose the cosmic poet’s well-worn phrase. Descriptive hue; green, sunlit energy. Free, open verse: eternity’s white space. The spirit: forlorn faces in a crowd. Imagine death: ghost-blossoms on a bough. photo by Jacqueline Casey

Read More

911 Ceremony

Our face denies emotion with our stancethough years of suffered loss bring no relief.Today we view the gas mask with a glanceas firemen-stunned among the Tower’s grief.Our calm defies the hurt within recalledthat day we ran through dust as panic stings.Our hair turns white remembering their fallthat day when ashes flew our feet had wings.

Read More

“There May Be Dragons”

Photo by Jacqueline Casey There may be dragons in that soul-less flight where harpies;  hovering aloft her bed, born of a spell that chills the wicked night and winters in her heart some unknown dread. There may be dragons in the hate-filled gloom: a whistling as the icy wind now drones. As thundering is heard;…

Read More

The Hankering

“The Hankering” Then suddenly September rain comes down. The green peas whisper to the thirsty corn: “New seasons yearn before your silk turns brown. Some nameless hand will bend you one dark morn!” From Miller’s Pub, our hero drains his beer. His dream: to leave this red-clay country life. But not before the dinner bell…

Read More

The Surfer

Oh, Jon:  he owns that blue green tunnel’s sway before bold nature casts him from the sea. He’s god and for a moment has his way. What man resists such magic brevity? The moment flows and swift the water flies. Around such power one might turn away but surfers are committed as they ride momentum’s…

Read More

“He’s Back”

“He’s Back” The rustle of cold colors whirl and shout and in their dance, a warning to revere. A halo’s on the mountain tops about and breezy waves of solemn shades appear. Soft yellows made among gray clouds, aloft and whisper to the shiv`ring wintry scene: “I am the cold, blue howl that bellows oft and…

Read More

For My Friend, William

Photo by J. Casey “For My Friend, William!” Oh, William, others now have ‘attitude’. Your sonnets broken into Flarf and sent. The Moderns make more humble pie of you and some do call your ‘summer’s day’ a vent! Oh, William, where must soulful poet step: avoidance of all passion voids true love! They know not…

Read More