There was a young man named Power
Who lived in a haunted tower.
The ghosts would their chains clank
Which, to be quite frank
Caused that young man to cower!
There Was A Young Man Named Power
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Author Archives: K Morris Poet
There Was A Young Lady Named Ling
There was a young lady named Ling
With whom I had a fling.
I swear its true
That I love you.
But love is such a temporary thing …
Barista Favorite: Anxiety AM/Nicholas Gagnier
We had a tie for Barista favorite for February 19th’s Promote Yourself Monday at Go Dog Go Cafe. It is our honor to publish this piece from Nicholas Gagnier of Free Verse Revolution.
Good morning, sir! If I might
have a word,
some advice?
Smile more.
Live healthy.
If you have something
to whisper, it’s probably worth
bellowing once or twice.
Spelling
makes a difference,
doesn’t it?
It’s pronounced anxiety, not
angst I-T, and it’s not
viably addressed.
Good morning, ma’am, is that
coffee on your
flowered dress?
You may want to
invest in bleach, before it seeps
into your reputation. Trust me,
I know.
Morning,
fellow citizens!
Be happy,
mathematically
positive, because waiting
for daybreak is
too obvious,
and we’re a happy
bunch of goddamned cynics.
Complacency expected, poison
at my table that passes
for family breakfast, despite
sitting by myself.
Good morning America,
whatcha so scared of?
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The Delight Of Snow
The churchyard is shrouded in snow.
Trees stand stark against the white.
I know
The delight
Of snow
There Was A Young Lady Named Sally
There was a young lady named Sally
Who lived in a narrow old alley.
When the moon shone bright
She would dance by it’s light
And sing of her childhood valley
A Lament for Indie Authors
A generous offer from Margaux to review indie books.
Hey Everyone!
I recently started a new section on my website for reviewing indie books. I hope you check out my article about indie books. Also, if you are an self-published author, I would love to hear from you! I want to read and review your work and promote it to my followers (all 30K of them!).
Email me if you’re interested! author.mbkeen@gmail.com
Indie authors are the hidden gems of the literary world. Here’s why you should read their work: www.mbkeen.com/read-indie-books/
Poetry Organizations from Across the United States Join Together to Offer Programs on the theme Where My Dreaming and My Loving Live: Poetry & the Body
Extract from The Academy of American Poets site:
New York, NY (February 26, 2018)—This March the more than twenty organizations in ten cities nationwide that compose the Poetry Coalition will launch Where My Dreaming and My Loving Live: Poetry & the Body, the coalition’s second annual programming initiative. For this collaborative effort, each organization will bring its unique mission to the task of presenting programs and projects on the theme of the body. Programs will include a range of events and publications that address issues including mass incarceration, transphobia, violence against people of color, and health and self-care. This programming is made possible in part by a grant from the Ford Foundation secured by the Academy of American Poets.
The phrase “Where My Dreaming and My Loving Live” is an excerpt from U.S. Poet Laureate Tracy K. Smith’s poem “Flores Woman” from her collection Duende, which…
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Let Us Purchase A Balloon
Let us purchase a balloon
To visit our mistress the moon.
In attaining our goal
We are, for a moment whole.
But tis over soon
For we are but lust
And whirling dust
“Upon His Picture”, by Thomas Randolph
When age hath made me what I am not now,
And every wrinkle tells me where the plow
Of time hath furrowed; when an ice shall flow
Through every vein, and all my head wear snow;
When death displays his coldness in my cheek,
And I myself in my own picture seek,
Not finding what I am, but what I was,
In doubt which to believe, this, or my glass:
Yet though I alter, this remains the same
As it was drawn, retains the primitive frame
And first complexion; here will still be seen
Blood on the cheek and down upon the chin;
Here the smooth brow will stay, the lively eye,
The ruddy lip, and hair of youthful dye.
Behold what frailty we in man may see,
Whose shadow is less given to change than he.
There Was A Young Lady Named Joan
There was a young lady named Joan
Who deprived a dog of his bone.
The poor dog gave a howl
Then, with a growl
He devoured that young lady Joan!
