52 pages, $13.00
I want to look at two poems from this collection, “I found out over coffee, a danish, and a donut” and “burn.” Together, I think they can stand for the whole, or give readers a sense of what else they might encounter if they were to purchase this book.
“I found out over coffee, a danish, and a donut.”
let’s try to keep
the kids out of this one
let’s try to be
a little less brutal and unkind
let’s try to discuss
our momentary loathing
for one another.
used as plotting points
back from rigged misconceptions.
clear mornings and coffee.
how can love
with all its intricacies
cradle me now?
I respond to this poem as a reader who has been in a “brutal” and “unkind” relationship, and although we did not have children it is not difficult to imagine the extra complications that would have arisen if we had. There is something so touching in the sentiments here: to want to keep the children protected from adult problems, to want to shelter them. And, beyond this, to want to be less “brutal and unkind” to a person who was, and probably still is, loved. If even just on a basic level of human interaction and decency.
Overwhelmed by the kind responses to last week’s post, Hosho McCreesh is graciously offering his last two remaining author’s copies of For All These Wretched, Beautiful, & Insignificant Things So Uselessly & Carelessly Destroyed. I’m going to match those two, which means FOUR copies are up for grabs.
For your chance to win a copy, please enter the WRITE YOUR BEST FAKE HOSHO McCREESH POEM TITLE CONTEST in the comments section here. The contest will end at noon on Thursday and the four lucky winners will be announced shortly after.
To get you inspired, here are the first five poem titles from the collection:
- It Was Paris, Those Rainy Old Streets, The Soft Glow of Wrought-Iron Lamps, The Sun Setting Behind Grey-Faced Buildings, The City Vibrating With Some Kind of Romantic, Sad Song . . .
- This Last March of the Human Animal, This Fumbling Procession of Mankind, This Dying, Poisoned Realm of Inhumanity, & in the Balance of Our Assembled Millennia This is All We’ve Really Accomplished . . .
- This Dizzying, Senseless Place, This Place Where We Simply Waste Time While Looking for a Better Way to Die . . .
- We Are Forced to Search Out Small Fires, a Little Light, Some Warmth, & A Little Bit of Madness . . .
- This Angry House of Bone That Someday Will, Again, Be Ash . . .