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Poetry Prose and Other Wordsby Ken Inghamhome
- poems - essays
- autobio - retroblog |
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What
Good is Poetry? Words can’t explain why nothing bites On a hot Cacapon afternoon Or describe the shapes that water makes Flowing over stones The way each swirl dissipates In time for another How a barely submerged boulder Makes its presence known By pointing a wake upstream Parting water like a miracle. Curses not verses are what I need When the hungry mother of large-mouth bass That lurks beneath that over-leaning sycamore Tastes every morsel drifting by With the sole exception of my artificial fly. And words alone will never keep No matter how arranged The pig and chicken factory waste From seeping into even this The cleanest river east of Colorado
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