Despite being a life-long consumer of poetry, I spent 22 years in manufacturing before my muse awoke and dragged herself out of bed. I sympathize with poor and working people and I advocate for peace and against corporate power. My poetry has appeared in Verse Wisconsin, Blue Collar Review, Stoneboat and a few other publications. My first chapbook, Who Are We Then?, was published in 2013 by Partisan Press. You can find more of my poetry and other great poetry here: http://littleeaglereverse.blogspot.com/
I don’t like the word.
I hate how actually
has crept into all our conversations:
actually, he’s in a meeting
actually, I meant to call you
she actually said that?
As opposed to what other reality?
Actually, the word has lost all
its corrective capabilities.
Actually, I can no longer distinguish
it from other conversation fillers:
I don’t love you anymore.
I doubt that I will ever see
a fragile word like filigree
ever look so much at home
as it does tucked in a poem.
Another word that feels just right
in a poem, say, about fading light,
if my vocabulary’s feeling muscular
the sky, I’d write, looks quite crepuscular.
And when some verse you’d like to rhyme
describing subtle changes over time
should one line end with west or best
close the next with palimpsest.
Next time you see one of these three,
palimpsest, crepuscular, or filigree,
the odds are nine times out of ten
a poem will be the where and when.
Allons enfants de la patria ...
On the Turner Movie Channel
French patriots are singing La Marseillaise again
drowning out the Nazis
in Monsieur Rick’s Café Americain
as I, for some reason, am remembering
the thrill of opening new boxes of Crayolas.
Eight, sixteen, then thirty-two,
and finally sixty-four!
An explosion of color.
But still, I stayed within the lines,
could never find the proper color
for defiance like theirs.
©2015 Ed Werstein