Tirado, Davies and Landau

Winter Solstice, 64°04′N 21°57′W

by REV. JOSÉ M. TIRADO

The hard wind’s

timed winter chime

wears down the

silly snowman

with the New York Yankees cap

on the hill.

Below him, green fingers push through the

newly made

rain holes,

in the snow.

Above, Venus peers from behind

her waving cotton cloud-skirt

in the dark cold,

trailing threads of fragile

gray-white.

Seen through the glassy

smooth ice,

the black tar path winds

into the Christmas-lit town

down the hill,

cars on the balance-act roll

cautiously down to the docks.

Street lights stubbornly resist

the gusts, mute, stiffly

revealing nothing.

Tomorrow, Time will stand still

with the sorely-missed sun.

Rev. José M. Tirado is a poet, priest, psychologist, and political writer living in Iceland. His articles and poetry have been featured in CounterPunch, The International Journal of Transpersonal Studies, Dissident Voice, The Endless Search, Op-Ed News, and others. He can be reached at jm.tirado@yahoo.com.  

 

Ethan Decides to Enlist
by ROBERT A. DAVIES

He kept his nose clean
and kept his opinions to himself.
That’s what one does when there’s a War Going On.
Or a make-believe threat.

After years of trying
Ethan could get a job.
He’d passed the military test required in school.
They told him of the skills he would gain.
A cyberattack had disabled the war machines
so much work by hand
and the service was out of hands.

Ethan liked being a uniformed soldier
fighting for the people’s freedom
though he knew meddling abroad
had nothing to do with freedom

His buddies never came home
but what was left of Ethan somehow did
and he said “I have seen.”
For a long time he said only, “I have seen.”

Robert A. Davies lives in Portland, OR. His forthcoming book is Melons and Mendelssohn. He can be reached at rjdavies3@comcast.net. 

 

A Dirty Bronx Snowfall
by SAUL LANDAU

That dull black sky
Unleashed elusive white pellets
Boys screamed with delight
Grabbed sleds adults sighed

Tomorrow that downhill sledding
Meant business closed mother
Worried snow would stain
The dress the wedding

Plans would go awry
I watched belly flopping
Friends hurtling downward from
My window above why

I asked mother can’t
I go after lunch
She said shaking her
Head calling my aunt

To lament the gravity
The falling snow comparing
God’s breakfast flakes to
Forms of human depravity

My eagle eyes searched
For moving objects on
Bleached landscapes far below
I sat there perched

Feeling depth of chagrin
Longing to be Teddy Milt
Jack or Hesh feeling
Flakes dissolve on skin

The bus made squeals
Air escaped the boy
Silently swerved to miss
The slow moving wheels

I didn’t hear screams
Snow flakes froze in
Their path before red
Trickled later in dreams

I froze that scene
The sled slid forever
Downward then I awoke
Snow had become unclean  

Saul Landau is the author of A Bush and Botox World, published by CounterPunch/AK Press.

Editorial Note: (Please Read Closely Before Submitting)

To submit to Poets’ Basement, send an e-mail to CounterPunch’s poetry editor, Marc Beaudin at counterpunchpoetry@gmail.com with your name, the titles being submitted, and your website url or e-mail address (if you’d like this to appear with your work).  Also indicate whether or not your poems have been previously published and where.  For translations, include poem in original language and documentation of granted reprint/translation rights.  Attach up to 5 poems and a short bio, written in 3rd person, as a single Word Document (.doc or .rtf attachments only; no .docx – use “Save As” to change docx or odt files to “.doc”).  Expect a response within one month (occasionally longer during periods of heavy submissions).

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