What the Sky Lacks: poems by Thom Caraway, new from Korrektiv Press and now available from Amazon; soon from other fine booksellers everywhere.
Archives for 2018
Day Time
December 21, 2018 by at 11:47 pm
Let the day’s troubles be sufficient unto the day.
Also: Give us this day our daily bread.
Further: This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.
Addendum: Don’t let the sun go down on your anger. Be reconciled while it is light.
Appendix 1: The parable of the laborers.
Appendex 2: Choose ye this day whom you will serve.
Appendix 3: Walk while it is light.
Appendix 4: Carry your cross every day.
Appendix 5: Day by day, O dear Lord three things I pray.
Appendix 6: One day at a time.
Must See
December 16, 2018 by at 10:41 pm
“This footage has been around for 100 years and these men had been buried behind a fog of damage, a mask of grain and jerkiness and sped-up film. Once restored, it’s the human aspect that you gain the most.”
Walls
December 15, 2018 by at 1:21 pm
No border wall.
A prison wall
is what’s in store
for Trump, y’all.
Occasional Sonnet
November 29, 2018 by at 9:47 pm
Sonnet for My Daughter on Her Birthday
Let me not admit November’s wild
Transition into winter’s dark, my child,
Could ever turn the light out in your mind
Or cause the love within you to unbind.
Oh no, you woke in autumn’s grip but kept
It at arm’s length until you walked and leapt
Across the calendar of time and thought
And showed me everything you found and brought
From icy mornings to the changing seasons,
From cold conclusions to the warming reasons,
To daughter me to father forth my vision,
To light a fire of love and firm decision
To love you always, always newly prove
That I will stay beside you, never move.
God is in Your Typewriter
November 14, 2018 by at 11:49 pm
From the introduction to Anne Sexton, The Complete Poems
Dy-no-mite!
November 12, 2018 by at 4:17 pm
Dynamite
From the latest biography of the Ur Existentialist, I Am Dynamite!, by Sue Prideaux. On the whole it’s very good, and of course Nietzsche really did sign his letters as “the Crucified” towards the end. But this seems to expect an awful lot of the poor guy.
My Mother, Urs
November 2, 2018 by at 11:28 am
My mother, Urs
Is not averse
To what is claimed
To be not worse,Like apple cores
And wooden floors
And husbands blamed
For broken doors,But woe betide
The other side
If they, enflamed,
Should try her pride,For she will cut
Their fattened butt,
Unfurl her famed
Derisive tut,And bring them low
To eat some crow
Till they be lamed
And in the know.
My Father, Ted
October 26, 2018 by at 12:01 am
My father, Ted
Can take the lead
From bullets aimed
Straight at his headAnd turn them in
To gold and tin
To cure the maimed,
Both friend and kin,By alchemy
And family tree
And things unnamed
And mysteryBecause he knows
The wild rose
Cannot be tamed,
It only growsWith rooted love
And hand and glove
And old age framed
By the sky above.
Coming Soon from Korrektiv Press: What the Sky Lacks by Thom Caraway
October 25, 2018 by at 11:40 pm
Balls
Non-sovereignty
Without a vote
Is slavery –
That’s all she wrote.