Edward Mycue – Richmond Revue / Sunset Beacon

THREE POEMS FOR OUR TIME

In memory of Sinclair Lewis, I wrote this to connect with our depressing times through the remote screen.

1. KEEP THE MAIN STREET
It depends on what you’re trying to keep
You can react
you can remember
Can you repeat
But the tree will not grow.
You can save it
You can dry it
You can burn it
The tree is you
You can share it
You can keep it
But there won’t be a living tree left.
polish it
dust it off
love it
it won’t breathe
You neither.
You have to grow a green thing.

(C) Copyright Edward Mycue 2022.

2. A PARTY-BLOCK OF EXPRESSIONS
It occurs to me that this person’s mind has screen doors
who let in what is outside of them,
and they “filter” them as well.
They may clog or are simply
remaining stray matter collectors.
Of those that remain are similar
to others who got caught in the nets
on other occasions and which can be created
the use of slur blocks or
buildings including:
…as if from…
….in the wrath of dawn….
if only for that….
….As if it was….
These may or may not be fundamental.

(C) Copyright Edward Mycue 2022

3. MY KEYBOARD JUMPED AND PRESSED

“Harvest” is what I mean when I write “coffee to people”
As the song of my youth says “you can’t go back to Constantinople”
Tell that to Syria, Jordan, Palestine, Israel, Turkey, no more in deed
Speaking colloquial Arabic and Egyptian, so many variations develop.

It’s a bunch of swinging and bouncing lyrics until the ear hears
And people feel harassed, abused and abandoned every day.
Chill is a word that oozes, chill they say, and chill well: it’s shaken.

I’m always learning new things for me that are quickly forgotten adrift and they
have senses and fools too and no more “twos” and they do not lodge
quite deep now in the brain and in the body and skin cages (which are also
the brain: because I have experiences of input and retrieval from storage
systems having been overfilled and you have to dredge to get “full incorporation” because much like dry spices move forward and into conflict territory.)

“You get moody,” my meditations tell me, perhaps trusting hunches. Institutions equal to poetry appearing worthy: as scholarly forms, a few verses.

Copyright 2022 Edward Mycue.

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