Poems
Original Poetry by Warren GastonThe Seagull
The seagull was dying. The bird knew it. I knew it. I wondered if there was something I could do, some intervention I could place between the gull and death. The seagull was not considering repair. With open eyes, smooth feathers, tucked feet the bird watched what had...
Gravid Cezanne
Celebrating Paul Cezanne (1839-1906) Cezanne, out with his easel near Aix-en-Provence, painted gravity with a light brush, coaxing round density out of apples, the angular geometry of men playing cards, mountain massiveness pitted against civilized sight. Sensation is...
Heraclitus’ Mirror
panta rhei In a day’s time, certainly in a week’s, neither I nor the mirror will remain the same. The mirror will not recognize me. No residual impression, no lasting elaborate smudge, no fascial echo, no reflexive wake. What was once Heraclitus is somewhat...
E-stir
E-stir – energy animates the inanimate, a stand against the renunciation of the body, a shout from the ghost ravaged grave. The corporeal scandalizes the corpse. _________________________________________________________________ What had been loosed from the folded...
How to be a Conservative
To be a conservative, first, know what you’re conserving. Value or privilege. If value, best spread it everywhere. If privilege, best guard against loss. Privilege is a pie. Only so many slices. Too much sharing and the pie is gone. Value is atomic, it empowers when...
Entrenched Life
It’s not easy, climbing up, climbing out, of trenches, out of mind grooves. Out of rutted comforts. The walls, dug steep, brief horizon slight view favorable to me. I see that I like what I see.
The Bruise
A fist of words, gloves off, sock the eyes of the ear & the ears of the eye. The punched mind jerks not deflecting to safety but reflecting on what can be learned from the bruise.
My World War
Something was over. The war, I was told. People were happy, and I was two. Seventy nine years later, I look through family photographs, one, me on my grandfather’s porch, ringing a bell in a black and white world. Whatever war was, it was good it was over. I was right...
A Sort of Psalm for Our Time
Can we sing a familiar song in a time we have made unfamiliar? I. insidious pudding melded merge blend vanilla bland soft to taste sweet too not toothy luxuriously smooth no bite II. food fast chains overarching arches meat as king ichthus sandwiches sacrificial...