Tag Archives: missouri

Poetry Hour on KOPN

Thanks to Anne and the gang at the Columbia Downtown Poetry Club, I got to read poetry on the local radio! I also got to meet a few poets from Jeff City (Gumbo Bottoms Single Pot Still Poetry Society), and one of them gave me a collection of the society’s poems, which was very exciting. There were musicians performing, too: Billy Haring, Dylan McCord and Kind Kurt.

This was a lot of fun. Except for the mics and headsets, the radio station didn’t look anything like Frasier. The lights were dim and there were perennial Christmas lights on the ceiling. Everyone was super nice and supportive and chill.

The first poem is at 53:15, and it’s called “Hate.” Tactful as ever, I upset the host. Sorry Mike! He handled it like a pro, though. Next time this peculiar situation arises, I’ll try to remember to read a life-affirming poem instead of a hate-affirming one.

No, of course I wasn’t nervous! …Okay, yes, I was nervous. I don’t know how I get stage fright reading in front of six people and a mic. Heck, sometimes I get stage fright just reading whatever I last wrote to two or three people at the Columbia Poetry Club. I’m getting stage fright right now, thinking about it. But it’s good for me. As I recall, it was a lot easier reading things aloud that were written by other people. There’s an extra layer of vulnerability, when you are the one who wrote it.

The second poem is called “Caught” and it’s at 1:41:36.

You should listen to the whole episode, though, because there’s lots of really good stuff in there!

And donate to your local radio station. Better yet, donate to mine! Imagine how boring radio would be without these good people mixing it up out there.

Until next time! ❤︎⁠

Cow

 

Grass gnawing
Turf tearing
Icon of contentment
Barn born bovine
Hay hungry herd huddler
Placid pie plopper
Unbridled idler
Four stomached, ruminating
Walleyed with wonder
Lowly lowing
Generous giant
Milk making miracle
Butter bringer
Beef behind

Brown like whole wheat
Brown as warm wood
Black like crickets
Black as dark coffee
White like warm quilts
Heavy as full cream

Bracing themselves against the wind
Enjoying each other’s company
They stand, sit, walk in heaps
Hopefully approach you
Tickling tongue nibbling leaves from your open hand
Feed them from your fingers, feel the fine fur
Fuzzy ears focusing
Big wet snouts outsize your palm
Long lashes catch the light
Delicate details
Dense marble eyes, gentility, impossible deep souls
Hollow yet happy
Vacant yet wise

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Trees

I didn’t write anything last night! Narcolepsy won.

So here is another of my old poems.

 


 

I remember the giant old tree

In the courtyard of Trinity college

In Dublin.

It was all gnarls and moss.

It drank hundreds of gallons of water

Which would otherwise have ruined the college’s foundations.

It was clearly alive

A sage of its kind

With character all its own.

I can see how the Britons might fancy

Their trees to have spirits

If they have such trees as that.

 

American trees, Missouri trees especially, are

Young

Scrubby

Sweet

Weak rooted.

American trees don’t know frost or hardship.

They know small things

And think them large.

American trees are children.

They are flexible and joyous and green

And they shake their leaves in laughter

At their wise older cousins.