Event Horizon
Event Horizon
the moment has arrived
the moment is over
— Zumwalt (1998)
Blinking away caffeine minutes
And hours
With the deli owls
Sparse and sporadic
Savoring the solitude
Of the urban predawn
I watch winter
Convoluted and crystal
Rush the window
The radio unloads
Heavy metal
High volume, howling
Then
Upturned chairs
the busboy plays counterpoint
on a Kirby
Purposeful sips
Premeditated
Prolong the leisure
Hunching over the cup
I feel my midnight independence hobbled
by night’s loneliness
yet, nonetheless,
Satisfying
— Zumwalt (19 Feb 1979, Washington, DC)

WEEK 1: Jan, 1, 2012
Ladder by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The persona of this poem, innocent and trusting, wonders if the Tarantula, a symbol of entrapment can provide the means necessary to leave our earthly prison.
The poet here as chosen a tarantula, more or less the biggest of spiders, appropriate for the biggest trap of all — the physical universe. If one can work with this tarantula, one can find an exit from the deepest of holes; however, the tarantula is not only non-cooperative, but is threatening — not a hopeful sign.
The casual tone of the persona contrasts with the implied reality embedded in the poem — there is no means of escape from the endless cycle that keeps us bound to the physical universe.
WEEK 2: Jan, 9, 2012
One creates their own reality and here memories start to overtake the objects in view. This is not a psychotic break but the every day feelings we have when alone with objects that have built up associations to past events that we have been a part of. The author gives us just enough (but not more than we need) to be able to follow and ultimately identify with the persona recounting what is an everyday experience in a way the bring us into the room and sharing these associations.
Response to Poetry Challenge #8.
This can be done as a page or a post. Doing this as a post.
WEEK 1: Jan, 2, 2012
Pretty Little Scars by Vampire Weather
I like a strong message but am especially pleased when the mastery of handling words is directed at supporting that message. This poem does this particularly well! In addition, this poem allows for enough interpretation to remain interesting and worth re-reading and mixes and contrasts the wanted with the unwanted and rejoices at the result.
WEEK 2: Jan, 11, 2012
We all wander about in life somewhat myopically, but some people’s short-sightedness is often at its worst in a relationship: squeezing out promises of freedom from the imprisonment of others. Ben Naga doesn’t hit us over the head with this message but captures it simply and effectively like a black and white photograph of two flies on opposite sides of a glass pane.
WEEK 3: Jan, 17, 2012
Jacaranda by Poetry & Icecream
Unlike a short story, a poem can exist quite nicely, thank-you, without conflict — relying on beauty alone — just like a flower in bloom — it’s great to see that flower all by itself, I don’t need to see a deer eating away the leaves for the scene to be of interest.
But beauty in poetry is not necessarily effortless. Often times there is very controlled use of components within a form.
In this case the meter and rhyme work perfectly together. The meter supports the meaning. The first two lines are iambs but the third breaks away with “bright” being strong and foreshadows the next deviation in the third line of the second stanza — “fantasies drifting away”. Yes, this would still be a nice poem if each line was iambic, but it becomes special as the meter is harnessed to highlight the highlights and emphasize the meaning. The last line is iambic and musical (“upon a sprinkled spread”) which puts the previous line in context against the prevailing iambic rhythm.
This craftsmanship is not haphazard. Even when a poet is so talented that they do this as second nature, just as a jazz musician improvises great melodic lines that align and contrast with the foundational harmonies, this ability and skill is based on reading lots of poetry and writing lots of poetry. There are no shortcuts to excellence!
The Sassoon Collection
viii. Middle Age
I heard a creak, and a groan
And felt a twinge of wooden pain
A man running in a crowd
Deep in its shadow he moved.
‘Ugly work!’ thought I,
Gasping for breath.
‘Time must be cruel and proud,
‘Tearing down this body.’
With gutsy glimmering shone
my dignity as the wind grew colder.
This aging man jogs over the hill,
Bent to make the grade
‘There is no gain without further pain’…
Sluggishly passing the trees.
Aches in the joints were shrill,
As unmeasured steps sank into the hard asphalt.
— Zumwalt (2011)
Copyright © 2011
The Sassoon Collection
vi. The imperfect cook
I never ordered something to be perfect,
Though often I’ve asked for fiery spicy or without sugar as a small invasion
Of mastering cooking.
I never asked that your dishes
Might stand, unburnt, moist and savory
Pointing the way toward gastronomical peaks like a sign-post.
Oh yes, I know the way to the heart is easy.
We found the little menu of our passion
That all can share who walk the road of gourmands.
In wild and succulent feasting we stumbled;
And sweet, sour, bitter, salty and spicy senses.
But I’ve grown sated now. And you have lost
Your early-morning freshness of surprise
At creating new dishes. You’ve learned to fear
The gloomy, stricken places in my stomach
And the occasional indigestion that haunts me later.
You made me fat; and I can still return
for seconds, the haven of my lonely pride:
But I am sworn to partake of variety
the blossom from invention and disparate exploration
And there shall be no follow-up in a failure;
Since, if we ate like beasts, the plates are clean
And I’ll not redirect portions of portions to pets under the table.
You dream endless assemblies of culinary masterpieces
Yet, in my heart, I dread average results
But, should you grow to hate my critiques, I would ask
No mercy from your feelings. I’d have you turn from the stove
And look me in the eyes, and laugh, and suggest take-out.
Then I should know, at least, that taste prevailed
Though flavor had died of wounds. And you could leave me
unfamished in an atmosphere of ongoing appetite.
— Zumwalt (2011)
Copyright © 2011
For the entire set, please visit: https://zumpoems.com/2012/02/29/the-sassoon-collection/
Imperfect information
You
and I
face off
with
battleships
on
secret
squares
sequentially
taking
pot
shots
wherever we
choose.
A
thin board
separates
our
lines
of sight
A
thick
carpet,
underneath.
This
is
a sequential game
even
when
I
attack
out
of
turn
each
and
every move
is
built
on the
one before.
Round
after
round
we proudly announce
a
target
square.
Sometimes
we
hit
Sometimes
we
m
i
s
s
But
never
fail to
attack.
Salvo,
my friend
When
you are most
relaxed
and think
all is
calm waters.
As
long as
there
are ships
afloat
There
will be
missiles
launched
across
these
now choppy seas.
Salvo,
my friend
All
shots at once
against
our better
judgment.
As
long as
there
are missiles
to launch
There
will be
ships
targeted
aggravating
these
now choppy seas.
But
once it is
clear
there
is some
chance at
sinking
even
one
ship
We
pull
back,
bend
the
rules,
re-
arrange
our
positions,
midway,
put some
ships
in reserve,
deny
any
cease fire
and
secretly
fill out
our
battle reports.
-zumwalt (2011)