The title is misleading, sarcastic. This poem is a response to a talk by some guy called Alex Epstein, who started something called The Human Flourishing Project. Alex believes nonrenewable energy sources are the reason for human flourishing. The rise in population (which he seems to think good because that means humanity is flourishing), health, …
I met Polly through friends, & being told she was a poet, meeting her I just got a good feeling she was legit; she sent me her latest book ‘Grieving with the Animals’ & reading just the first few pages I knew that my initial assumption was correct. Here is a body of poems, authentic in their tone of feeling, pressing in their effect & imperative as an annex to the growing oeuvre of Anthropocene poetry.
In October a review I wrote for The High Window will be published, so I am glad you can get a window into the poems before then through Chris Murray’s inimitable Poet Head. Enjoy.
Animals are in Communion
I came home
to find him
Could do nothing.
Sat on the sofa
lost to the world.
I have some bad news
I’ve been seeing ghosts. Birds on water.
The day before I received the news, two swans flew low over my head. Their wings thrummed
like a helicopter.
Eyes turned to watch the rescue vehicle, and instead saw white bellies.
The sound travelled, nothing like their usual flapping, as they soared over and onto water.
Returning to my boat, a shadow shifted on the river bank. A furry creature – small, sleek – edged
its way through the grass, took a moment to drink, then slop, slipped in.
Animals are in communion for you.
As are we,
nosing each other’s armpits
as we bed in
for warm companionship.
Because you went cold.
Though the civility of civilisation frightens me, I visit…
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A series of 10 sonnets by Adam Penna up at Underfoot today.
Poems full of the sound of wind, natural & fresh, full of hope & exhilaration at the small mercies that come from pure observance of the minor joys in life.
You know what to do dear reader.
& an update. Go & read our Chapbook Confessions guidelines in the menu bar if you’re interested in offering your sagely advice & experience from publishing a chapbook or collection, along with poems from that chapbook. All the details are there, but if you have any questions you can email us, which is provide there.
I hope to hear from you soon.
How to Worship
Today, a thousand fallen leaves: some yellow,
some red, some green, some circling the trees.
They teach us how to worship, and the wind—
it lifts the worshippers. It whips them up.
They seem hysterical with happiness.
I am hysterical with happiness.
The sun shines on my head and on my hands.
It touches the whiteness of the page. Meanwhile,
inside, outside and everywhere, my friends
and people I have never met or known,
contribute to the tumult. Let’s make an aisle,
and, stepping through the happy congregation,
cradle the grocerybags, search for the keys,
and wipe our feet before we enter the house.
The Happiness of Trees
I don’t want to instruct. I want to be
instructed by trees, loosed of leaves and leavings.
I go, step over the threshold and out into the yard.
Already my arms swing overhead. And you,
watching from the stoop…
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Pleased to have Michael Vecchio’s poems up at Underfoot this week. Fluid poems packed with natural imagery, inquisitive & with a sense of attachment to place.
If you’d like to be published by us, please see our submissions & read a few of the poets here to get a sense of what we want.
A Mythical Bird
A mythical bird
said to breed
In a nest floating
on the sea
is more actual than sand
builds a canopy
because belief removes
any doubt that wings
will be feathered full
and the glass they cover
From ‘An Allegiance to Some’, Selected Poems, 2010-2013
Somnambulistic Tendencies Near to the Hudson
1. The Adirondacks in the absence of chlorophyll
reveal a hidden visual fire
beneath which run
the origin waters of the Hudson.
2. The middle opens
like a flower desire
into fingered reaches.
3. As can be imagined
reveal many greenish-grays
leaving the impression of shoulders
leaning through collars of vegetation.
4. Waiting for the deer to spring
blindly from the dark
into the hidden mire
my metallic carriage hurls forward.
5. Once the way…
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