what are memories?
a skipping stone
under layers of
silt, bottom of
this primordial riverbed
water rushing over
unaware that time
has passed, soon
all is forgotten
Category: Poetry
Timeless Universe
i’m not trying to write a good poem
this is just playful, holding a flashlight,
watching words appear on a page like
reading The Hobbit as a kid, and i can
do this, sometimes pausing to notice
shadows where dark becomes light,
a bright circle, where meaning emerges,
my handwriting, this timeless universe,
in quiet night
Media Journalist During COVID-19
i work for
the new york
times, or politico
or fox, or
cnn, or any
of the flat
screened word factories
that exist to
educate, speculate, divide
conquer the masses
fixated on their
iphones, ipads, laptops
so we guess
about escalating death
rates, about what
has already gone
wrong, and all
the things we
still don’t know
about ventilators and
arrogant millennials, and
west virginians who
are not impacted
by our hysteria
but we keep
typing and posting
because we must
capitalize on all
the eyeballs stuck
at home, sheltering
in our sentences
and photos, following
our every word
about economy on
the brink of
massive global recession
and when this
finally ends, how
many lives will
we take, who
will count the
minutes that were
spent reading and
reading, and scrolling
hours of time
we robbed from
the worried, who
should’ve known better
-Author’s note: I’m 100% in favor of citizens staying informed about the news regarding COVID-19, however, I do believe that we need to carefully monitor how much time we spend endlessly reading articles that serve to churn up further worry and speculation.
Romantic Viewpoint
we talk about buying wetsuits
and surfing, all the things
said and never done, like
reading the Bible cover to cover
these stories journey with
us year after year like so many
unread Shakespeare plays, tragedy
our romantic viewpoint, these
lies we tell ourselves, all the
constellations never named, but
with luck we still see some light
in darkened sky, so when we
leave this earth, we don’t have
to ask, why? why?
The News
is worried about the economy
and about the virus and
how the two are connected
about cruise ships that
sail sick people in their midst
and so, day after day
men in suits, women with lipstick
grin or frown into cameras, on
screens, talk about stocks
descending, and this goes on
and on, day after day, as we
watch quarantines, death counts
following along, witnessing
global pandemic with a smile
and a grimace
When The Fever Stopped
i found myself remembering
all the other feeble days
when time stood still, when
a single room, a single bed
was everything. Between
shivers and coughs, the
twilight space, sickness,
where body and mind journey
in dreams, but go nowhere.
This suffering carries with it
the magic of surrendering
to forces that determine
temperature and strength,
outside of human will and
control. And when this lasts
for night after night, a voice
calls out, don’t fight, don’t fight.
And when we give in
life always begins again.
Butterfly Effect
we used to race caterpillars
up old oak trees, caterpillar
jockeys we were, holding our
sticks, prodding the slow
legged insects to move skyward
sometimes they listened to us
yelling their new names
come on Stripey, faster Laser
tickling bark, up they went or
they’d stop, no telling how it would
end, because the bell always rang
recess done, but they’d keep
climbing higher and higher, or
we imagined they did, ignoring
grammar, staring out windows
gazing to the tallest branches
baby butterflies, blue sky
How Nature Works
glistening grass with morning
dew, like a spider web
pulsating, wind whipping, sticky
threads catch life, then
death, how nature works
constant miracles, colors, petals
insects submerged in nectar
pollen dust travels, floating
on bees feet, sun
greets this day with
warmth for all, moon
at night, bright dreams
silent stars, flickering light
Soap in the Shower
when i think of all the times
i’ve caught the soap in the
shower, i wonder if i could
trade this for immortality or
winning the lottery or another
miracle beyond slick clumsy
fingers losing a fragrant
rectangle, only to somehow
cradle it again, like a touchdown
this, while contemplating whether
it is just me who performs sudsy
magic, there must be others who
exhaust all their luck behind
foggy plexiglass, others who silently
celebrate the meaningless and divine
Perhaps Forever
I pause when
light looks like
heaven might
evanescent glow
white tufts, airy clouds
barely covering sun
I stand in awe
shifting sky
gazing upwards at
all we can’t know
alive, this moment
perhaps forever
Daniel W. Polk 