PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

  Where to begin!? Oh boy.:   Where to begin!? Oh boy. Let's start, not at the bus station roof or the first cup of coffee, but here, in the barn’s dim throat, where the air is thick with hay‑dust and the storm’s low growl presses against the timber. The chipped mug has already made its return, closing a loop since the city, and the animals shift in their stalls as if they too can feel a hinge about to turn. It is in this stillness that the verse flares: a sudden, uninvited thought that the worlds themselves might be nothing more than rumours, passed from mouth to mouth until no one could swear they’d seen one. That is the crack in the timber, its ontological splinter. And through it rides the Horseman. Not the grim spectre of Washington Irving’s cautionary tale, but a rural pantomime: headless, yes, but bowing with omelet in one hand, whiskey in the other, the top hat ( long lost in the city’s loops ) now restored to the stage. The storm, seeded hours ago in the microchip grid, is in full voice overhead, and yet the gesture is pure theatre. This is disbelief as performance, the moment when the work stops asking whether you believe and instead hands you a role in the play. The Horseman is a hinge in the truest sense: he closes the Top Hat and Storm threads with a flourish, and in the same breath opens the door to the occult convergence that waits in the next unit. Without him, the leap from barn‑realism to emblem‑stack ritual would be a jolt; with him, it is a bow, an invitation, a knowing wink from the stage. Here, in the rain‑slick absurdity of his arrival, the suite’s architecture is laid bare: loops closing, loops opening, disbelief shifting from rupture to complicity.      

Truly Master-Works: And you! Dear Poet! hath mastered the craft, no doubt nor denying

Given the circumstances and: Given the circumstances and vicinity of my adolesence, this poem touches me more than just the literary way; and more profoundly than most poems can.

I have been reading Poetry: I have been reading Poetry for over half a century.  Yet, when I read yours, I feel like I am just starting out because your verbal skill is so invocative, evocative, and provocative.  Your Poems function at what might be called the very frontier of the English language where power and strength of words is renewed beyond the mundane ways in which most of us use them.  Reading your words is very much like a mystical experience; reading your words is always, and ever shall be, a Privilege.  

Your applause rides with me;: Your applause rides with me; tucked in the carriage light, steady between city and field -yet your voice is paramountly welcome each step along the way.

Well, you got a face though: Well, you got a face though

  Reading Note — The:   Reading Note — The Loop These two pieces are not fixed in sequence.Begin in the city and ride out to the farm,or start under the wide‑skied dark and follow the tracks into bricklight.The hinge is your turning point — a platform where both airs meet.Read them forward, read them in reverse,and you’ll find the same current running through:home is not one place, but the motion between.       .