Poems by ModPo’ers: Mark Snyder

Let’s go dance (End of ModPo ’13)

after reading the first poem
my head went numb–
have I answered your question?
how do I get started?
a quick rough sketch, warts and all
I think you’re going to enjoy THIS–
when they were good they were incredible.

Most of us don’t sleep,
I’m pretty sure Al doesn’t.

Most of these poets would have been sent
to the Ministry of Love and vaporized,
bourgeois decadence–
degenerate art–
making sense is overrated.

What do you make of her use of windows and doors?
What else could she have meant by Paradise?
I hadn’t the slightest idea.
You’re only disqualified from the group
if you forget your towel. Don’t panic.

How would one avoid the “splinter”
that shunts the brain out of its groove?

What do you see?
Isn’t any creative work bullshit
if you look at it in a certain way?

What I assume you shall assume–
she leads her alien invasion
as Williams dances like a lunatic
and Kathleen and the baby sleeps downstairs.

I’m not a lit guy, so I don’t know.
It’s always a conversation between you and the poet
Experiment, see what works for you.

Let’s go dance in front of the mirror
but make sure you have at least
one post per week
in the poem-specific subforums.

My ModPo wrap-up poem: Goodbye but not farewell

Goodbye but not farewell.
We will continue our conversations
and social media chats –
with new friends,
with old friends.

And we will continue writing poems:
together in small groups,
and at home, alone,
in the midnight hour that is not
midnight, but that
floats between isha and fajr –
the darkest part of night –
when passions die,
and distractions fall to the side.

The songwriting teacher said all I needed
was a thesaurus and a rhyming dictionary –
but it hasn’t proven sufficient –

and there are no final words, anyway,
no bridge, no chorus, no refrain,
just a tight hug, a soft sigh, a tender kiss,
and a throw-away “see-you-tomorrow,”
maybe, if you’re lucky. And all my
countrymen are poets, and sailors.

No, goodbye is not farewell.
There is SloPo on Facebook,
and sudden spoon is resurrecting,
and the Breakfast Club opera is on track,
and KWH is always open,
and there are Sunday get-togethers in DC
whenever you are passing through.

And all our blogs and our websites are up,
and NaPoWriMo comes in April,
and Postcard Poetry Fest comes in August,
and before you know it, ModPo14!

Poems by ModPo’ers: Therese Pope

Mothers of Poetry
Who is this mother?
She sits and waits by a window
Tears streaming down her cheeks
With bratty babe sniffling at her sleeve
Is she Jane Austen’s melancholy, forlorn side-kick
The kind who reads too much weepy Shakespeare
By candlelight, on a stormy night?
A hopeful Romantic
Now withered by form
Is her blood noble
Or is she strong and brazen
Stein-like, contemplating sentences?
A wild vixen who shushes grammar
Sinister, slinking
Sneaking up behind you
To scare the daylights out of rhyme
Look how she poses
Dabbing at her cheek
Who are these mothers?
Dancing around silky syllables
Accenting hazy lines
Plying us with
Diatribes that never really speak
These mothers of poetry
Sit,
Slumping in overstuffed chairs
That never fade with time
Forcing a half-smile
And with a woeful wink,
They wait for us

Words pressed to silent lips.

Poems by ModPo’ers: Megan Worrell-Lupton

                         MODPO

Modern & Contemporary American Poetry
   MODPO MODPOPENN MODPOLIVE
                 MODPOPENPOLIVE
                           Modern
                        Anti Modern
                       Green glass
                          Spreading
                     We are the grass
                     Mending the Wall
                    Cut up into pieces
               and scattered on the floor
                         on the Page
                         In my hand
13 Ways to connect with Toronto, Ecuador, Hawaii, Sydney,
Israel, San Fran, South Carolina, Connecticut, Philadelphia-
                               Etc
                 etc etc etc etc Etc etc
                     MODPOPENNPO
            In wild room dancing to 12 tones
                   and in this moment
                    this is the moment

                             THIS
                               is
                         the Poem…

                    To lift Kelly’s cup
          and sip together-to another year of
                           Dwelling

                  And Let the Splinter
                          Swerve

From the beautiful mountains of North Carolina,
Love and Many Blessings,
I’ll see you in the forums
and again next year. Until we re-open the present….

-Megan L. Worrell-Lupton