Driven by a mix of fear his life will have so little impact that his obituary will contain unnoticed spelling errors and a converse irony about the irrelevance of celebrity, Gagnier gathers poems that both showcase the arc of his life and gently mock the project as a naïve attempt to encapsulate something both complex and incomplete. …
Joy weaves together hymns in praise of feeling rather than deconstructing poetry with evidence that words cannot be other than a structure around anything of actual meaning, elegantly capturing both the power of language to show reality and its failure. …
This image by the rather talented Ink Stitution was the photo prompt in one of the poetry communities to which I belong. Which inspired the haiku that follows.
Fog obscures the path
Monsters hide in the shadows
Trust me to save you
This post is dedicated to the myriad Goths who face another 364 days of being told it isn’t Halloween yet.
You say we don’t understand your experience.
So we ask.
And you say that it ain’t your job to educate us.
Which is true, but doesn’t help solve the issue.
And solving the issue’s not your job either,
But that don’t mean you aren’t allowed to try if you want.
Which is why there are your stories out there.
Stories we get to read if we find them.
But they aren’t everywhere.
They aren’t common enough that we see the nuance just by breathing.
Because it’s not your job to educate or to fix.
And because of the cheap-shooting, foul-mouthed,
Those unhappy few who spew hate at anyone who dares to
Not be a bitter little pill
And who deserve
To be treated like human beings.
Because that’s how it works.
If humanity, decency, and virtue are about more than my tribe’s gonna kill yours,
Then that’s how it works.
They don’t have a right to come to your forum and talk shit about your faith.
The don’t have a right to come to your post and make jokes about your mother.
But they do have the right to be treated like a human being.
Because Kant’s idea that we make the rules
So we treat you the way we want to treated
But if you turn it round:
Create some rule about treating others the way you don’t want to be treated?
The clue’s in the name: Tnak.
Because, that’s not just an idea that will tank society;
It’s muddled thinking too.
Because we all share one experience:
Someone smacks you round the head, you want to smack them back.
Someone was kind enough to compliment my latest haiku, so I thought I’d spread the love:
Darkness becomes light
Forgiveness is only bliss
Poetry is hard to define, but one of the common guides for what is “good” poetry, is conformity to tradition: does this poem follow the forms of Latin verse? Does that poem fit the structure of Shakespearean sonnets? Does this tanka reference the season and have a metaphysical shift in the middle? And such fitting of a time-honoured pattern while retaining fluidity and voice would seem a satisfying goal. However, these verse-forms might have a structure built on sand. …
Do I have friendships focused on poetry? Friendships where I bounce poems back and forth? They all are, or none of them are. …
For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved the taste of words. Not synaesthecially, not the way I love the taste of a good meal, but the way words feel in the mouth and in the waiting to be spoken. Which isn’t why I started writing poetry. …
Defining a generation more by a feeling than by happenstance of age, Gagnier speaks to those who have grown into lives of comfort but not meaning. In an attack more melancholy than brutal – yet no less effective – he exposes both risk and solution without reducing individuals solely to their generation. …