#Poetry Wed: “The Last Page” by Alan Michael Parker

“I have stopped reading the last page of novels—
now the horse drags the rider down the lane

and through the sugarcane field
to the impossibly brown sea

and that’s where they stop, just short.
Now the sun turns to look.

I have stopped believing what’s next…

…Oh, little bird, abide with me
before the stars go out,

before the handle turns,
before the floorboards creak awake…”

Read the entire poem at Copper Nickel.

#Poetry Wed: “You’ve Been Swallowed by a Whale Only You Can Let Go” by Marc McKee

“It’s no surprise that I hate it
when my friend is swallowed by a whale
even if it is only a dream of being swallowed
by a whale, the whale everything ever
all at once and thus a stupefying brick of cloud
borne by Manhattan’s swaying pallbearers

as I think of how to try to bring her out,
and also thus whale after whale full of whales,
all the coffins, the urns, the urns’ ins
and outs, the white whale
of the gone, the swallowed of all the nations, the ones
we feel sawed off from singularly, grief, grief…

…and slip the cinematic tentacles
and slap the needle off the face of the beloved record
and charge into new dreams
like fools that won’t quit singing.
The record spools and loops and pools
and floods into the air, the menacing atmosphere

a whale when a whale moves, an epic wave
taking forever to build
against what tiny forts we’ve made
from pillows and purloined fencing, our cups empty
and refilled a dozen times over, all our sheets in the wind,
our cultivated and distant loves, our locals,

our air…”

Read the entire poem at Copper Nickel.