By Steve Gerson

Four Ages


Embers radiant,

Warmth nourishing fertile loam,

Seeds spark invention.




Out, not in, away

from boards squared, toward wild woods,

toward the wolf’s howl.



A tree bowing, cracked, 

splintering like burst vessels,

still dreams to voyage.



Marred, scarred, seamed, stitched . . . life 

suffices.  A candle snuffed

remembers flaming.


Now more than ever:  Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., In Memoriam

his hair coiled to resist deception

(moustache parenthetically exclaiming)

each letter a tooth tearing at tyranny

teeth on a gear grinding

words wielded as a dog’s gong barking

sentences weaving a cat’s cradle 

to bower pilgrims

the pages awakening night our mother

this titan a siren in a world firebombed

houses slaughtered

So     it     goes 

not fatalistic acceptance

pretending to be what we pretend to be

his V a vector




trailing a smog thick as swarming gnats leave the city to find the edge


leap the synapse            pavement to gravel to grassland


no right angled boards no hard lines to curb deflection in rough barked forest


become the trout             leaping to gulp quickness


become the breeze            flaring the nostrils of feathered hawks



Steve Gerson, an emeritus English professor, writes poetry about life's dissonance and dynamism. He's proud to have published in Panoplyzine (winning an Editor's Choice award), The Hungry Chimera, Toe Good, and The Write Launch.



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