Poems Beats, Slams, and Yes, I Am(s) We call it poetry for the ear, But that’s not where we hear it. We call it poetry out loud, But it’s an inside job. We call the meter measured. We call the measure divine. I call the words: All Words! Sweet- Sweet -Tweet-Tweet Twitter-Tatter- Beat-
Poems Good Neighbor, Frost If the sky and the horizon bent properly, I could see those paper barked birches. Autumn -swung and knocked- swung and knocked Oak and ash and spruce and pine and even Evergreens Grumbled. Fat chirping squirrels bent trunks down. Elasticity whip snapped shot them back up. I crooked my neck
Poems All of Her Poetry, Still I didn’t know Mary was dead. (No one told me about Maya, either) A blank Pause when I read about it online. Poets don’t go out when we die. (We live with Death while we live.) We stay home. Which is why when Walt said to me (The
