Rick Hartwell
John Kaniecki
Darrell Petska
Rick Hartwell
.
.
The Re-Education of Zhu Yufu
There is much to learn
in re-educating the poet –
You can’t take away all
desire he sees in the world, or
remove hunger seen in the land; or
blind the beauty he sees within you.
You can’t take away songs
he hears of birds singing,
or the raw tinkling sound
of spiraling wind chimes;
soft sigh of wind in trees.
You can’t take away earthy
smells of honest days’ labor,
or the pungency of dung
strewn, plowed into fields;
whiffs of rice cakes with
jasmine tea allowed others
on their last visiting day.
You can’t take away the taste of
brass in the poet’s mouth after his
most recent protocol lesson,
or a remembrance of wet lips;
last kisses before parting.
You can’t take away fingers
tracing old scars as if they were
nipples of a first and lost love;
mixed feelings of shame and
satisfaction as the poet voids
his bladder after marching on
parade for most of the day.
You can’t take away a mind’s
longing to be known by the
simplest names: writer, poet, man.
Perhaps it is true, poet Zhu Yufu
can be broken, can be re-educated;
however, only the point may break
leaving the body of the pencil intact.
honed, whetted, poised to write again.
Bio:
Rick Hartwell is a retired middle school English teacher living in Southern California with his wife of thirty-six years (poor soul; her, not him), their disabled daughter, one of their sons and his ex-wife and their two children, and twelve cats. Yes, twelve! He believes in the succinct; that less can be more; the least can be the best. He was nominated by Red Poppy Review for Sundress’ Best of the Net 2011. When not writing Rick wishes he were still pushing plywood in Coquille, Oregon.
(author retains copyright)
.
The Re-Education of Zhu Yufu
There is much to learn
in re-educating the poet –
You can’t take away all
desire he sees in the world, or
remove hunger seen in the land; or
blind the beauty he sees within you.
You can’t take away songs
he hears of birds singing,
or the raw tinkling sound
of spiraling wind chimes;
soft sigh of wind in trees.
You can’t take away earthy
smells of honest days’ labor,
or the pungency of dung
strewn, plowed into fields;
whiffs of rice cakes with
jasmine tea allowed others
on their last visiting day.
You can’t take away the taste of
brass in the poet’s mouth after his
most recent protocol lesson,
or a remembrance of wet lips;
last kisses before parting.
You can’t take away fingers
tracing old scars as if they were
nipples of a first and lost love;
mixed feelings of shame and
satisfaction as the poet voids
his bladder after marching on
parade for most of the day.
You can’t take away a mind’s
longing to be known by the
simplest names: writer, poet, man.
Perhaps it is true, poet Zhu Yufu
can be broken, can be re-educated;
however, only the point may break
leaving the body of the pencil intact.
honed, whetted, poised to write again.
Bio:
Rick Hartwell is a retired middle school English teacher living in Southern California with his wife of thirty-six years (poor soul; her, not him), their disabled daughter, one of their sons and his ex-wife and their two children, and twelve cats. Yes, twelve! He believes in the succinct; that less can be more; the least can be the best. He was nominated by Red Poppy Review for Sundress’ Best of the Net 2011. When not writing Rick wishes he were still pushing plywood in Coquille, Oregon.
(author retains copyright)
Return
John Kaniecki
.
.
Peace Action
Will my voice be heard
Among the maddening noise
Of wicked rulers absurd
Whose greed callously destroys
The fragile calm of peace
Will my cry go out
When missiles and bombs fall
And generals scream and shout
Where prayers in terror say all
From civilians seeking release
Will my words by read
In a society controlled by few
Lying in everything said
Denying what is true
Where evil multiplies to increase
Will my thoughts be known
By those who look away
Seeking just to be left alone
Hoping it will be okay
And that the evil will simply cease
Still I’ll speak, still I’ll cry
Still I’ll write, still I’ll contemplate
Until I go on to heaven high
Or until Love has conquered hate
(author retains copyright)
.
Peace Action
Will my voice be heard
Among the maddening noise
Of wicked rulers absurd
Whose greed callously destroys
The fragile calm of peace
Will my cry go out
When missiles and bombs fall
And generals scream and shout
Where prayers in terror say all
From civilians seeking release
Will my words by read
In a society controlled by few
Lying in everything said
Denying what is true
Where evil multiplies to increase
Will my thoughts be known
By those who look away
Seeking just to be left alone
Hoping it will be okay
And that the evil will simply cease
Still I’ll speak, still I’ll cry
Still I’ll write, still I’ll contemplate
Until I go on to heaven high
Or until Love has conquered hate
(author retains copyright)
Return
Darrell Petska
.
.
Do I?
Do I pray for children bloodied and torn in Homs' streets?
Do I cry for them?
Do I raise my voice in anger?
Do I write my senator?
Do I rally my friends and neighbors?
Do I squander my anger and tears?
Do I turn my head from the news?
Do I flee to my favorite pub?
Do I throw down half a dozen drinks?
Do I convince myself Homs is a footnote to another man's history?
Do I fall into bed and dream?
Do I dare dream?
Do I dream of bodies bloodied and torn in Homs' streets?
Do I wake up?
Bio:
Darrell Petska is a Wisconsin poet and former engineering editor for the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Past or forthcoming publications include San Pedro River Review, New Verse News, protestpoems.org, Red River Review and others.
(author retains copyright)
.
Do I?
Do I pray for children bloodied and torn in Homs' streets?
Do I cry for them?
Do I raise my voice in anger?
Do I write my senator?
Do I rally my friends and neighbors?
Do I squander my anger and tears?
Do I turn my head from the news?
Do I flee to my favorite pub?
Do I throw down half a dozen drinks?
Do I convince myself Homs is a footnote to another man's history?
Do I fall into bed and dream?
Do I dare dream?
Do I dream of bodies bloodied and torn in Homs' streets?
Do I wake up?
Bio:
Darrell Petska is a Wisconsin poet and former engineering editor for the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Past or forthcoming publications include San Pedro River Review, New Verse News, protestpoems.org, Red River Review and others.
(author retains copyright)
Return
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