Oct/Nov 2015 Poetry

Two Poems

by Kenneth Pobo

Image courtesy of NASA and the University of Arizona

Image courtesy of NASA and the University of Arizona

Grace Day

I'm writing this day down on
my yellow notebook paper
that normally holds work
information that I love to tear up.
I wouldn't tear up today. After slogs
through rain and sweat, today
is better than a peanut butter cup,
better than beating my dad at ping pong,
better than Tommy James and the Shondells
on their Gettin' Together album.

A gray hummingbird came to visit—
not us, but our feeder.

The coral gypsy dahlia, pink red,
startled. The dictionary should put
its picture in place of a worded
definition for splendid.

We air out the house,
let in bird chirps and a breeze
like a friend's subtle tap on the shoulder.

July heat will barge back in.
Mosquitoes sharpen their points.
It's now. It's brief.
No use to hold it. Or desire to.


Wandawoowoo's Star Hook

I grew up, kind of,
or I got taller and heavier.
I also grew down, stuck my nose
close to the ground,

heard a birch tree's heartbeat,
the snuffling of a worm bending
around a pebble. Sometimes
I worship science, a god

I don't get. Time weirds out
in a black hole, like turning
a cherry bellflower upside down.
I teeter at the event horizon, dis-

appear with light. I've often lived
in reverse, the odds against me,
looking for a star hook
to hang my scarf on.


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