Dear readers,
First things first. I would like to introduce a new member, Lizabeth
Bradshaw of Indianapolis, IN. Lizabeth teaches English at world-famous
Cathedral High School, and she’s even been teaching some creative writing
recently.
A second introduction is to our featured poet, new to these pages. Bill
Knott was born in Michigan and grew up in an orphanage. Now a teacher at
Emerson College, Knott has been called a poetic outsider whose "startingly
inventive poems remain untouched by current fashion, and exhibit the
intrinsic isolation–the excruciating loneliness and goofy saintliness–of
being human." These mini-lyrics are freaky fun.
POEM TO POETRY
Poetry,
you are an electric,
a magic, field–like the space
between a sleepwalker’s outheld arms…
POEM
I am the only one who can say
"I have never been in anyone’s dreams"
Your nakedness: the sound when I break an apple in half.
SLEEP
We brush the other, invisible moon.
Its caves come out and carry us inside.
POEM
The wind blows a piece of paper to my feet.
I pick it up.
It is not a petition for my death.
DEATH
Going to sleep, I cross my hands on my chest.
They will place my hands like this.
It will look as though I am flying into myself.
GOODBYE
If you are still alive when you read this,
close your eyes. I am
under their lids, growing black.
Monday's Verse 