“Memory is /not a quiet door opening /but a slam that repeats /its shutting, /making everything smaller /till you are once more in a narrow room /without light /where no one can hear you.”
A poem for my sons.
One year after Syrian forces declared victory in Aleppo, Adam Hughes reflects on the horrors the city has endured.
“I picture him digging in the garden, /his sweat muddying the thirsty soil.”
“Like that dog receiving /and only in the moment of receiving /feeling a reprieve from wanting.”
Poetry Editor Charlie Bondhus writes about poetry, problem-solving, and how writing well can help you become a better man.
“The illusion of being intact is quite /astonishing, but a quick twist of my skeleton /key and the whole chassis springs open”
“I keep mum about my boyfriend /and forget Mom’s /mood swings & blood /on the carpeted floor.”
“What do you think it means? I ask. /It means you finally grow up, he says”
“when someone mentions /the president’s name, /coffee cups tap dance /in saucers, splash sewage, /some shuffle like Gene Kelly /dressed grunge”
***Read more of Kirk Schlueter’s poetry. Interested in submitting poetry to The Good Men Project? Check out our guidelines.Photo by Sean/Flickr
“From somewhere below, the leaping of a cat /off a high surface, now skittering across the floor. /Then someone says a name you recognize”
“The last we see of the kid /Whatever expression /Is on his face /Hombre, that’s not fear”
“My eyes find the space /crickets can’t fill, /between where /words end and /skin meets skin.”
“a whole dumb ecosystem /flowering between us”
“Oh, one of your gifts killed my only son – /my one seed wasted in the drought of this desert. /Are you sure you are the same as our One?”