Two Poems

Two poems previously published at The Shore, the first of which was nominated for the Pushcart Prize:

The Effects of Ground-Level Ozone on the Ecology of Pennsylvania Highways

We could talk about the road
from Allentown to Bloomsburg,
the nuke plant outside Berwick,
the wind mills in Shamokin.
Or I could say what’s plain,
the pallor of the tree tops
too soon against the still-green valley’s
August.

It’s not latitude or elevation
dressing them for harvest.
The civic body pulsing
the freight metastasizing
the emissions of the tourists
come to find themselves
in nature.
Or I could say what’s plain.
There’s nothing in our handiwork
the dying leaves would envy.

Ode to Wallace Stevens

I’m not sure how I feel
about this Wallace Stevens, born in Reading
near the Updikes and the Danners
O’Hara, from the famous brewing town,
Doolittle and Benet from what we still call Christmas City.
Sandburg talked about it.

I was born in Allentown,
half-raised in the townships
with the sons of bankers,
the daughters of accountants,
the sleight progeny of academics,
and half-raised by my father’s
kind of people.

And so when Stevens carries on
and Ezra changes Hilda
into affectation
I think about the blacktop
behind my cousins’ house
the drop-off to the alley
the neighbor kids with summer colds
who smelled like smoke,
no light or warmth in
metaphors or symbols
no prattle about tea—
communal three-speeds, maybe
broken like umbrellas,
free camp at the Y,
baseball in the city parks,
the college hill for sledding.

We go to school or war,
we settle in careers,
like Stevens we get licensed
like Ezra we go crazy
like Hilda we are strung up in the trees.

The halo light of street lamps
has burned out in our alley
Like Hart Crane, one of us is dead.

Rested in an urn on my aunt’s
shoddy mantle
forty cantos east of Reading,
eight west of HD’s plot on Nimsky Hill,
a soldier’s fortune from these lives of letters,
these gadflies we recycle,
and these wars,
also never-ending
so we can have our books
they give the light and heat
by which
my father’s people burn.

Sifting through Kerouac’s Western Haiku

A blog post haiku

Hey there and howdy, hello.

Come find me on Substack.

This blog is hosted on WordPress, and there’s a whole WordPress ecosystem that, in theory, helps connect people.

I don’t think I post often enough for that to work, but I really do appreciate the folks who follow me here.

What I like about Substack is that they’ve found a way to incorporate what I also liked about Twitter. There’s the blogging platform (newsletters), the feed (tweets, but they call them posts), and there’s also a chat. It’s pretty tidy.

Speaking of tidy. My latest on Substack is Small Mercies: Sifting through Kerouac’s Western Haiku (and a note from Tom Petty.

I’d like to share more rough draft stories and poems with you, but doing that here makes them ineligible for publication almost anywhere else. I think Substack offers a work-around. I can put rough drafts in the chat, which is only visible to subscribers (subscriptions are free). Just a thought.

If Truth Feels Like Treason: A Few Minutes on Power, Belonging, and Paying Attention

Good morning and happy Monday. Two posts from the Substack I want to share:

Today’s: If Truth Feels like Treason: Star Trek, Bruce Springsteen, and Spurious Rage (And that Time MLK Stopped a Bullet with Love)

Friday’s: Under Pressure: A few minutes on power, belonging, and paying attention.

My Substack goal is a MWF schedule. So far, so good. Please like, share, subscribe. Substack’s a good place for writing and for writers and readers in general.

Be well and stay warm!

(Please Do) Find Me on Substack

Back when real conservativism and being free meant refusing to wear masks to help stop a prolly fake global pandemic, I spent a lot of time connecting with other writers on Twitter.

It was mostly good.

When Elon bought the platform, people started to leave. I mostly did, too. Not because engagement changed, but because I thought and still think Musk was doing great harm to things that matter (Medicaid, for example). Enabling, other harm, too.

(Mask are cool, now).

In 2022, I started a sporadic Substack. More recently, the platform has added some Twitter-ish tools, and I’ve been reconnecting.

I am also trying to stick to a real Substack cadence: New shortform posts (2 – 5 minutes to read) every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

This blog (the one you’re reading right now), hosted by WordPress, won’t go away. I will use it mostly for updates when I have a new story, essay, or poem at a new venue.

I might cross-post or link to the MWF pieces, but I haven’t decided. If you follow me here, thank you! Please also consider following me there. For traction and stuff.

Be well. Stay warm. See you soon!

An Honest Question in a Mad Time

When they told you it was okay to kill George Floyd over counterfeit 20s, or Eric Garner for selling loose cigarettes, did you really think they would condemn the murders of Renee Good or Alex Pretti?

As the regime falters, as the lies are exposed, two things are happening. The base is shrinking, but it’s getting more vocal. It’s getting mad at having to do the mental gymnastics, and it’s taking that anger out on everyone else. This is how systems work.

This isn’t about politics, per se, though we need political solutions.

Our system has always been tenuous, has often forced us into zero-sum, binary assumptions.

But our system has not always yielded such toxic fruit.

You can be skeptical about both major parties but also realize that the President and his closest allies are pushing specific buttons for illiberal, undemocratic reasons.

People in both major parties have always lied, cheated, and stolen. Most humans do. That doesn’t excuse us from saying other true things. That doesn’t mean the specter of actual fascism is something we just live with because both so-called sides are “equally bad.”

The truth is, they aren’t. And I’ll be nuanced: MAGA and Republican aren’t the same thing. At least, they didn’t used to be. George W. Bush created ICE, but he never weaponized it like this. Barack Obama, Democrat, deported more people than Trump could ever dream of, but he didn’t do it like this. I don’t recall suggestions from either of those administrations that ICE could or should operate with complete impunity. I don’t recall either administration begging federal judges to allow warrantless searches. I don’t remember either of those presidents suggesting that someone like Alex Pretti was probably a criminal because he was legally carrying a firearm while helping a woman who’d been assaulted by federal agents.

In a sane time, no one would need bother pointing this out. But, as Wendell Berry said:

To be sane in a mad time
is bad for the brain, worse
for the heart. The world
is a holy vision, had we clarity
to see it—a clarity that men
depend on men to make.

That’s frustrating. Heartbreaking. Maddening. Probably true.

I will have missed much in this short post. I’m white, straight, middle class. We now know those things won’t necessarily save me from ICE, but I also know they mean I’m already, by default, safer than many people I love. I may have been too gracious in parsing good-actor Republicans from the red-hatted polloi. Afterall, even many non-MAGA folks have repugnant views and vote in unconscionable ways. I’m also aware that saying we need a whole different system can present as expecting perfection from Democrats, and that’s not helpful, either.

As I write this, much of the country is covered in snow and under Cold Weather Advisory. Dangerous conditions, apt metaphors.


Just Published: “Grazing on the Kyll” at Earth & Altar

Many thanks to Earth & Altar and arts and culture editor Terry J. Stokes for thoughtfully engaging this piece and giving it a wonderful home.

“Grazing on the Kyll” is a sonnet in the Petrarchan or Italian model, inspired by recent reading and revisiting of formal structures. It opened up the writing of two other pieces, which I hope to place soon.

While I have never been of the opinion that there is only one way to write (and I don’t typically write formal verse), the challenge of the form was rewarding for me as a writer. I hope it will be rewarding for readers, too.

Read it here, and feel free to comment below!