The prudence of Lincoln and Burke is sorely needed when both conservatives and liberals employ the strident language of war...
This poem appears in the Fall 2019 issue of Modern Age. To subscribe now, go here.
I’ve heard it called the Blue Effect, my hunger
For the sea. But, I walk this shore
And understand this craving is for more
Than a blue panoply. I want the plunder-
Seeking gulls that hover, swoop, and squawk,
The sinking of my feet in shell-studded sand,
And the foam-capped waves that race to tag the land.
I need the snowy egrets which croak and stalk
Their prey and me. I grieve the jellies, beached
And stingless, trapped in dying formless flesh.
Watching the gold-skinned anglers fill their nets,
I marvel that Earth’s lonely moon can reach
Across black weightless space to time the tide
And slow my breath and heart to coincide.
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