Iron Mountain ski jump

Iron Mountain ski jump

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

WHEN I READ THE POEMS OF OTHERS 5-23-17

WHEN I READ THE POEMS OF OTHERS   5-23-17

When I read a poem
by William Stafford, about a wagon
track or wolf or gust
of wind, or lines by Billy
Collins about a lazy daughter
or a lanyard or a gust
of wind, or stanzas by Shelly
about a long-lost statue
in the sand, brushed by a gust
of wind, all I can think
to write is about a lanyard-
wearing wolf walking on a statue
in the sand, and a gust
of wind.

JRMcF

[No, I’m not writing again. I’m still fasting from being a professional Christian, trying to be a real Christian. But I start most days with a poem—unedited, just the way it comes off the top of my head--just because I want to, and because I need to write. You don’t need to read it, though, and I have told no one that I am posting in CIW again, so if you have stumbled in here by mistake, and think there will be something worthwhile to read, I apologize. JRMcF]



Wednesday, May 17, 2017

ONE FLOATS FREE, 5-17-17

ONE FLOATS FREE, 5-17-17

The world will stagger
And need our prayers for mercy
Mercy for the moment
And all the lonely moments
Yet to come
One of us must stay
And one must go
The soul goes on and leaves
The body as a useless husk
One of us must stay in flesh
While one floats free

JRMcF

[No, I’m not writing again. I’m still fasting from being a professional Christian, trying to be a real Christian. But I start most days with a poem—unedited, just the way it comes off the top of my head--just because I want to, and because I need to write. You don’t need to read it, though, and I have told no one that I am posting in CIW again, so if you have stumbled in here by mistake, and think there will be something worthwhile to read, I apologize. JRMcF]

Tuesday, May 16, 2017

POET IN A COFFEE SHOP, 5-16-17

POET IN A COFFEE SHOP, 5-16-17

I decided that I needed
To be a poet
In a coffee shop
This sunny morning
So off I went
To the Pour House
And got myself seated
On a hard and soul-worn bench
With the darkest of the dark roasts
In a red-striped mug
On the scarred table before me
Alas, without my pad for poems
Which watched forlornly
From across the street
In the back seat of my car
So I watched my coffee colleagues
The nerdy but pretty woman typing
At a small high table
The tall and pleasant young man
Behind the counter
Dispensing coffee and politeness
In equal measure
The lone wolves with their laptops
As far away from one another
As Scylla from Charybdis
Two middle aged faculty women
Discussing some arcane topic
Before the empty fireplace
The four bright grad students
Here only for the summer
Studying together for some project
Each just finished with the first
Year of teaching school
Now back for greater learning
how to teach English and arithmetic
While hoping for sex and beer
They all make me smile
I’m glad I forgot my poet pad


[No, I’m not writing again. I’m still fasting from being a professional Christian, trying to be a real Christian. But I start most days with a poem—unedited, just the way it comes off the top of my head--just because I want to, and because I need to write. You don’t need to read it, though, and I have told no one that I am posting in CIW again, so if you have stumbled in here by mistake, and think there will be something worthwhile to read, I apologize. JRMcF]

Saturday, May 6, 2017

CHASED BY A HEADLESS CHICKEN 5-6-17

CHASED BY A HEADLESS CHICKEN

Most little children were chased
By a headless chicken
If they were born between eight thousand B.C.
Or whenever chickens and butcher knives
Had both been invented
And the end of the greater war
That followed The Great War
And ever set foot on a farm
Because adults were intent on cutting
Off the heads of chickens in the presence
Of little children so they could watch
And laugh their fool heads off
As the tiny tykes scrambled and screamed
while the headless chicken
chased them ‘round the yard
Which is why there is a still greater
Great war coming…


JRMcF