When everyone else is crazy…

THE IMMORTAL WORDS OF DEATH

AN ENDING FOR EVERY BEGINNING

Truth & Inconvenience of a plasticized world

Not everyone wants to pursue happiness.
Two cliches walk into a bar: Three’s Company & Misery Loves Company

We used to look up at the stars on chilly Ukranian nights.

Distant blazes twinkled in our eyes.

Now we look up and see lesser lights

that scorch our Ukranian skies.

Fast forward – one direction, deceptive speed…

                          LAST TO KNOW 

     If you want to write a poem, you’d better sneak up on it. Never, I warn you, never mention the word “poem” in a poem, Don’t let the poem know it’s a poem with a cadence, a conscience, a quick conclusion. Let it out like a breath into the air where it can rise and float off without a care or an awareness of its nature, of its own early demise. Don’t let on. Make some excuse for the line break; say you momentarily ran out of ink or ideas. Explain away the alliteration as purely coincidental. As for the metaphor – well, sometimes a river is just a river.
     If the poem finds out it’s a poem, it will become self-conscious, and start to stutter and babble, sensing the urgency to be profound and erudite, inscrutable and poignant, glib and scarcely intelligible, all at once… oh yes, and brief. It’s too much pressure for any piece of writing!
     Better to let it think it’s a novel that can take its time and meander at leisure, while a patient reader abides. Let it stroll along unknowing as it winds around each bend.
Don’t let it find out it’s a poem till the end…
till the end.
Don’t let it find out it’s a poem
till the end.

                          (Mike Cohen – 12/2020)

For a long while I’ve been doing poetry just for effect – not for a cause. I didn’t find a cause, not because I don’t believe in causes. I’m all for peace, for curing disease, for ending violence, for feeding the world, for a clean environment, for prosperity, for happiness. But too many words have been lent to such worthy causes. I needed to find a path less travelled, a cause that has not been overly underwritten.

I finally find myself with a cause, pitting my poetry against the penny…
penny-ante and anti-penny.

Pennies are more costly than valuable. Their production is time-consuming and environment-harming. They take up more space and time than they are worth. Americans have a sentimental attachment to them but, folks, it’s time to get over it. The penny has long outlived its useful span. And Lincoln won’t lose face, thanks to the five-dollar bill.