Adam Fenner's Blog, page 14

Free Bush Candelabra – Review

Selma Martin

enflaming me with chutzpah, W3 

Torch
Aloe, 
you grand bush
candelabra 
free to the bees, birds
and moon glow—nature skilled 
you with conical spikes to
brighten a lethargic garden;
alone I sit breathing your chutzpah
Torch Aloe, you grand bush candelabra.

…

You may find the rest of the poem here.

Dectina Refrain: Free Bush Candelabra

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Analysis

“Free Bush Candelabra” uses the Torch Aloe as a powerful symbol of both resilience and neglect, offering a quiet meditation on endurance in solitude. The poem revolves around the image of the Aloe, a plant that continues to thrive despite the surrounding garden’s fatigue and the lack of human attention. Through its simple, repetitive structure, the poem reflects on the Aloe’s strength and the tension between its vibrant energy and the neglect it faces.

The repeated refrain, “Torch Aloe, you grand bush candelabra,” serves to anchor the poem, giving it a rhythmic, chant-like quality. This structure, along with the use of the dectina refrain, underscores the cyclical nature of life and endurance. The repetition emphasizes the Aloe’s enduring presence, reinforcing the sense that the plant stands as a quiet but constant source of strength, unshaken by its isolation. The speaker is clearly in awe of the plant’s vitality, which is highlighted in the first stanza as the Aloe stands tall, offering its “conical spikes” to brighten a “lethargic garden.” It is “free to the bees, birds, and moon glow,” fully engaged in the world around it, giving without asking for anything in return.

However, as the poem unfolds, there is a shift. In the second stanza, the speaker notes that “no one visits to luxuriate,” acknowledging the Aloe’s beauty and energy, but also its isolation. Despite the Aloe’s natural vibrancy, it remains unnoticed, unappreciated, and perhaps even ignored. The word “unfortunate” introduces a sense of regret, as the Aloe’s potential goes unfulfilled, and its vibrancy is wasted. The Aloe continues to “enliven a fatigued heart,” yet it remains alone in the garden, unvisited by anyone who could benefit from its beauty. This sets up a powerful contrast between the plant’s enduring vitality and the speaker’s own loneliness.

In this way, the Aloe becomes a metaphor for resilience in the face of neglect. While the plant’s strength is clear, the poem shows how that strength is often invisible to the world. The line “breathing your chutzpah” highlights the Aloe’s quiet power, suggesting that even in solitude, the plant’s energy and boldness persist. The use of the word “chutzpah” adds a layer of defiance, emphasizing that the Aloe’s resilience comes not from the expectation of attention but from its ability to stand strong regardless of whether it is seen or celebrated.

The tone of the poem shifts from admiration to a more reflective sadness as the speaker contemplates the Aloe’s solitude. While the first stanza conveys a sense of wonder and appreciation, the second introduces a quiet melancholy. The speaker’s recognition that no one comes to “luxuriate” under the Aloe’s shade or to admire its beauty reveals the plant’s neglect, even as it continues to endure. This contrast between the Aloe’s ongoing vitality and the world’s lack of recognition forms the emotional core of the poem.

“Free Bush Candelabra” captures the tension between vitality and neglect, reminding us that resilience is not always recognized. The Aloe thrives without needing validation, standing firm in its isolation. This subtle message speaks to the broader idea of finding strength in solitude—surviving and continuing to exist even when the world fails to acknowledge or appreciate it. The Aloe is a symbol of quiet endurance, of persistence without the need for recognition. Through the simplicity of its structure, the poem conveys the power of quiet resilience, inviting us to consider the often-overlooked strength in the natural world and within ourselves.

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

Love and Dostoevsky – Review

Dora

Are we shadow or substance,
wandering in and out of each other’s trance
in and out of our transient Sunday best
to cram on beaches and park benches, for school exams
and airline tickets, into bank and hospital elevators
underneath midnight suns in concrete jungles?

For some it’s hellish, a Kafkaesque nightmare
numbered into infinity, multiplied problems,
rained on parades, dishes in the sink since the last in-
famous riot, war, flood (was it?) tore Aunt Sally from
her sewing and the fat girls in their enormous cotton kaftans
from their love letters to a distant legend
instantly possessed between book covers.

…

You may find the rest of the poem here.

Love and Dostoevsky

© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes 

Analysis

Love and Dostoevsky is a poem that delves deep into the existential questions that define much of human life—love, suffering, the search for meaning, and the disconnection that often arises in a complex, chaotic world. The poem starts by reflecting on the feeling of wandering, disconnected from true purpose, caught in the trance of everyday routines. Images of people rushing through life—on beaches, in elevators, for school exams—suggest a world that feels both busy and aimless, where individuals are caught in cycles of repetition and never truly “arrive” at anything substantial.

This sense of alienation echoes the worlds of both Franz Kafka and Fyodor Dostoevsky, whose works often grapple with the absurdity of existence and the search for meaning in a seemingly indifferent universe. The poem’s theme taps into the existential tension between shadow and substance, between the meaningless repetition of modern life and the yearning for something more real, more substantial. By invoking Dostoevsky early on, the poem hints at a world plagued by deep existential dilemmas, where love and suffering are entwined, and people are trapped in cycles of yearning, searching for deeper connection and understanding. The Kafkaesque nightmare referenced in the poem emphasizes the absurdity of existence—people reduced to numbers or duties, unable to break free from the overwhelming systems that govern their lives.

At first, the poem feels trapped within this Kafkaesque vision of suffering and alienation, much like Kafka’s characters who struggle to escape their predicaments. The world is one where meaning is elusive, and where lives seem governed by forces beyond one’s control. The image of people shuffling through their daily routines—“cramming on beaches,” “into bank and hospital elevators,” “underneath midnight suns in concrete jungles”—mirrors Kafka’s portrayal of individuals caught in meaningless bureaucratic systems. Yet, Love and Dostoevsky doesn’t stay in this place of despair. It shifts focus toward a deeper, spiritual longing that calls on love as the key to transcending this alienation.

The poem makes a turn when it asks, “Where did the populace go to find the dog, the cat, the bird / that sits on a child’s hand and chirps as if it had found the sum of all happiness?” This moment represents a shift from the disillusionment of the earlier stanzas to a tender reflection on love—specifically, the pure, untainted love found in simple, unpretentious relationships, like those between animals and humans. These creatures, in their innocence, symbolize something much deeper: love that is uncomplicated by societal pressures or expectations. This is the kind of love that Dostoevsky often saw as a path to redemption—simple acts of kindness, compassion, and connection that bring a sense of meaning in an otherwise absurd world.

In the next part of the poem, the speaker envisions a broader, more spiritual vision of love. Rather than just seeking connection with individuals or animals, the speaker longs to embrace all-encompassing, divine love: “Let me love you. Let me love those who love you. Let me love / the One who created you.” This moment reflects Dostoevsky’s belief in the redemptive power of love and faith, where the act of loving—whether toward others, nature, or the divine—becomes the means of transcending suffering and chaos. The poem’s closing vision of love as a transformative force, capable of lifting the speaker from the shadows of alienation into a truer, more connected reality, mirrors Dostoevsky’s view that love, in its most expansive form, leads to a kind of spiritual liberation.

The shift toward this transcendent love sets the poem apart from Kafka’s more bleak and hopeless outlook. While Kafka’s characters often remain trapped in their alienation and confusion, Love and Dostoevsky suggests that love, even in a world marked by suffering and absurdity, can offer a way out. This love is not merely sentimental or naive—it is an active, powerful force that connects the individual to something higher. It is through love that the poem finds meaning, not in rational thought or societal structure, but in the act of loving itself—toward people, animals, nature, and ultimately the divine.

The poem’s form reflects this journey from confusion to clarity. In the early stanzas, the fragmented, erratic flow mirrors the disorientation of life itself—the sense that nothing is truly solid or graspable. Yet, as the poem progresses, the tone shifts toward something more reflective and serene, as the speaker yearns for a love that transcends the personal and connects the individual to a higher reality. The poem’s free-flowing structure mirrors the idea of love as something unbounded, not confined by strict form or rules, but expansive and liberating.

In the end, Love and Dostoevsky creates a dialogue between the existential crises depicted in Kafka’s works and the redemptive possibilities found in Dostoevsky’s. The poem explores themes of alienation, suffering, and the search for meaning that are central to both writers, yet it ends not in despair, but in the embrace of love as the path to understanding and redemption. The poem doesn’t offer answers in a concrete sense—it doesn’t promise that life will be free from pain or confusion—but it suggests that love can provide a kind of freedom that transcends the chaos and fragmentation of modern life. In this way, the poem becomes a meditation not just on the nature of love, but on the possibility of spiritual and emotional liberation through love—one that is deeply connected to both the existential struggles of Kafka and the redemptive vision of Dostoevsky.

Photo by Arno Senoner on Unsplash

Giant – Review

Suzette Benjamin

and upon that rock
a giant rose…

You may find the rest of this haiku here.

Giant – Haiku 2024 Thursday Doors

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Analysis

Thursday Doors blends myth and history through the image of a door—a simple entryway that carries us between the tangible and the mythical, the past and the present. At the heart of the poem is Mont-Saint-Michel Abbey, a place where human craftsmanship meets nature’s force. This abbey, perched on a rocky island, serves as the perfect metaphor for a door—standing between two worlds: land and sea, the earthly and the divine. But the door in this poem is not just a physical entry; it’s a passage into something much bigger, something larger than its stone structure.

The poem makes us think beyond the ordinary. While Thursday Doors might suggest something routine, even mundane, the act of opening a door becomes an invitation to something profound. The speaker subtly elevates the idea of a door from a mere architectural feature to a symbol of potential and passage, much like the legendary origins of Mont-Saint-Michel. The image of a “giant” rising “to a great height / from The builder’s stone” calls forth the myth of Gargantua, the giant who, according to legend, played a role in the abbey’s creation by dropping stones to form its foundation. This myth makes the door more than a threshold—it transforms it into a portal to a story of human effort, divine inspiration, and something larger than ourselves.

The “giant” rising from the rock isn’t just a physical image—it’s also symbolic. Mont-Saint-Michel, built on this island of stone, reminds us that great things are often born from humble, even mythical, beginnings. The abbey itself, standing firm amidst the rising and falling tides, becomes a symbol of endurance and creation. The “builder’s stone” speaks to the foundation, both literal and metaphorical, of something that rises from the earth to reach toward the heavens. It’s a reminder that creation, whether in myth or in reality, is messy, unpredictable, and deeply human.

The poem’s structure mirrors the ebb and flow of these themes. It avoids a rigid form, choosing instead a more fluid rhythm that reflects the changing tides around Mont-Saint-Michel. This natural, organic pacing hints at the untamed forces that shaped both the abbey and the myths surrounding it. The lines don’t follow a fixed rhythm, but rather move in a way that mirrors the uncertainty of creation. There’s a sense of ascent in the poem, both physical and spiritual, as if the speaker is walking toward something greater—something monumental, like the giant who rises from the earth to create something enduring.

The tone of the poem is one of quiet reverence, but it’s not sentimental. It’s as though the speaker is inviting us to reflect, not just on Mont-Saint-Michel as a place, but on the process of creation itself. The reference to a giant rising from stone evokes both the physical process of building the abbey and the symbolic act of creating something meaningful from humble beginnings. The doors, then, become more than just physical entryways—they are thresholds to larger ideas about life, history, and creation.

At its core, Thursday Doors is about more than just a building or a doorway. It’s about the act of creation, the choices we make, and the stories we tell. It reminds us that every door we encounter in life is a passage to something new, something waiting to be discovered. The poem suggests that even the smallest of acts—like opening a door—can lead to something transformative. The giant, the stones, the door—all of these elements connect us to the larger process of building and making, whether we’re talking about a physical structure or the myths we create to understand the world.

By invoking Gargantua’s myth and the creation of Mont-Saint-Michel, Thursday Doors explores the act of building something that lasts. But more than that, it asks us to think about what those “stones” are: the stories, the choices, and the moments of creation that shape our lives. The poem invites us not to see doors as obstacles, but as opportunities—thresholds to new ideas, new beginnings, and a deeper understanding of the world around us.

Mont-Saint-Michel Abbey

Mont-Saint-Michel Abbey is a historic abbey located on a small island off the coast of Normandy, France, in the Manche department. It has been a key religious site since the 8th century and remains one of France’s most visited landmarks, attracting over a million visitors annually. The abbey is part of a broader UNESCO World Heritage site, which includes both the island and its surrounding bay.

The history of Mont-Saint-Michel is deeply intertwined with the rise of Christianity in the region. Originally known as Mont Tombe, the island became a place of Christian worship after the 6th century, with hermits reportedly living there in early times. The abbey’s foundation is credited to Saint Aubert, the Bishop of Avranches, who, according to legend, built a chapel to the archangel Michael after receiving visions. The abbey grew steadily over the centuries, with significant development during the Carolingian and medieval periods. By the 10th century, Benedictine monks had taken residence, transforming the site into a thriving religious and cultural center.

Throughout its history, Mont-Saint-Michel has experienced numerous challenges, from Viking invasions in the 9th century to internal corruption among its monks in the medieval period. The abbey’s fortunes fluctuated, often tied to the political struggles between local rulers and the French crown. In the 12th century, the abbey reached its peak, with significant architectural additions, including the “Merveille” – a remarkable Gothic structure that housed the monks’ living quarters.

The abbey’s architecture reflects its long history. The original church, built in the 10th century, was expanded and altered over time. By the 12th century, a new Gothic choir was constructed, and further additions were made to support the growing community of monks and pilgrims. The abbey’s layout is complex, with multiple levels built on top of each other to make the most of the limited space on the rocky island. The “Merveille,” a three-story building, stands out as an example of medieval Norman architecture, and its cloister offers a tranquil space for meditation.

During the French Revolution, the abbey’s religious function came to an end. The monks were expelled, and the abbey was repurposed as a prison, where it remained until the mid-19th century. This period saw the abbey’s decline, with many parts falling into disrepair. It wasn’t until the late 19th century, following a campaign led by figures like Viollet-le-Duc, that restoration work began. The abbey was declared a monument historique in 1862 and became part of the UNESCO World Heritage list in 1979.

Today, Mont-Saint-Michel is no longer a religious center but a popular tourist destination. While it no longer houses a large monastic community, a few monks from the Monastic Fraternities of Jerusalem have resided there since the early 2000s. The abbey continues to be a symbol of French heritage, attracting visitors with its stunning architecture, historical significance, and dramatic location surrounded by the sea.

In conclusion, Mont-Saint-Michel Abbey is a testament to centuries of religious, cultural, and architectural development. From its origins as a small oratory to its status as a monumental structure, it reflects the enduring importance of faith, art, and history in shaping the landscape of Normandy. Today, it stands not only as a historical site but also as a symbol of resilience, having survived invasions, wars, and political upheavals to become one of France’s most iconic landmarks.

You may learn more here at Wikipedia.

A bonus, Arthurian legend about the giant of Mont Saint Michel

Prologue:  The Threat on King Arthur’s Kingdom

A giant walked with mighty legs into a town on England’s coast.  He used his mighty arms to crush the men who challenged him.  And with his mighty hand he stole the Duke of Hoel’s daughter, then turned his mighty back upon the broken, ruined town.  This giant who brought death and doom lived high on Mont Saint Michel.  His cave sat in that island like a socket in a skull, and since that time we know this monster by that island’s name.

1.  The Giant of Mont St. Michel

Some noble knights set sail to fetch the damsel from her captor, but these poor knights sank quickly when the giant struck their boats with great enormous hunks of stone.  Steel Armor is a poor protector from the ocean’s mighty grip, and on that day all goodness seemed to vanish from the earth.

Poor, heavy-hearted Hoel asked the King to war on his behalf.  The good King’s name was Arthur, and he dared to take the task.  Later under fog of night, he sailed with two companions to the deadly island’s shore.  Before them in the darkness burned two fires, east and west.  They took a chance and headed west to see what fate would bring.

2. King Arthur Meets A Crying Woman

While creeping toward the blaze, they heard an older woman’s wail.  So sorrowful was she they could not help but ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Sweet Helena is dead,” she said, “and I her nurse have lived to see it.  When the monster seized her flesh, her spirit fled away.  And now her dainty, cold remains lie buried under stones and grief. I have escaped the giant’s wrath because he likes to hear my sobs.  Beware, he wields the devil’s strength in every muscle in his frame, and if you love your life you will depart this very night.  For if you stay, he’ll crush your bones and grind your hopes to ash.”

A burning indignation swelled throughout King Arthur’s chest.  He swore that he would kill the giant or be killed in turn.  And with a renewed purpose, brave King Arthur marched eastward.  He set his gaze upon that fire’s distant, sputtering light.  It burned the yellow color of a demon’s hungry eyes.

Learn how King Arthur defeats the giant here.

King Arthur and the Giant of Mont Saint Michel

Photo by Daniel J. Schwarz on Unsplash

serotonin – Review

Elizabeth Claire

her face is oil, gleaming over the plate — he takes long stock
of arbitrated beefstock, the tender cuffed
aioli shoots in glaze. less so,
her melting face puffy body, weird drain
of eyes down her face. I took her, new girl trembling
at auditions, when she was whole. the
hole began when I left for fields, she was creature
of career; nevermind the docile house against
the curve of the earth and the green-gray shutters.
nevermind the mull of the cows at noon, at dawn
when she is sheet-tousled asleep and her fair skin is
flank of animal under his hand. the country is the same breath
taken many times, new universalism against rite.
her audition lines going up, eternally,

…

You may find the rest of the poem here.

poem: serotonin

© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes 

Analysis

“Serotonin” by the poet captures the quiet unraveling of a marriage, where the partners drift apart slowly, unable to fix what is broken. The poem feels more like a slow disintegration than a dramatic collapse, with no clear moment of crisis—just an accumulation of emotional distance, desire, and regret. The speaker reflects on the past and the way the relationship once felt whole, but now it’s marked by a “hole” where something important used to be. This sense of loss is tied to the growing alienation between the two people, both of whom are adrift, caught in separate worlds.

From the very start, the speaker’s perspective on his partner is distant and detached, as though he’s observing her as an object rather than a person. The image of her “face is oil, gleaming over the plate” positions her as something to be consumed, a surface to be admired but never fully engaged with. This idea of objectification continues throughout the poem, with the woman being reduced to her physicality—”her melting face,” “puffy body,” and “weird drain of eyes.” She’s no longer the vibrant, whole person the speaker remembers. Instead, she’s become something distant, like food, glossy and unattainable but never truly fulfilling.

The poem moves back and forth between memories and present-day observations, suggesting that what was once alive and real is now a ghost of its former self. The speaker recalls when the woman was “whole,” before he left for the “fields.” This phrase seems to represent not just a physical departure but an emotional withdrawal. The woman has become a “creature of career,” caught up in her ambition, and the relationship has suffered because of it. This metaphor speaks to the disconnection caused by the pressures of modern life—how work and external expectations pull people away from the intimacy and vulnerability that once defined their relationship.

The imagery of food, bodies, and consumption runs through the poem, suggesting a deep link between emotional needs and physical sustenance. “Arbitrated beefstock,” “aioli shoots in glaze,” and “the spring where the cows lead him for reassurance” blur the line between nourishment and emptiness. Food here is a metaphor for emotional fulfillment that is never fully realized, much like the fleeting moments of connection in the relationship. The term “serotonin” itself, usually associated with happiness or pleasure, becomes both a fleeting high and a toxic illusion in this context. It represents the brief moments of satisfaction that never last, reinforcing the idea that what the speaker thought he had in the marriage was not real or sustainable.

The poem’s structure is fluid and disjointed, mirroring the fragmented emotional state of the speaker. The lack of punctuation and the jumping between memories and the present heightens the sense of instability. There’s no clear narrative or resolution, just an overwhelming sense of something slipping away, piece by piece. The speaker’s tone is resigned, detached, and mournful, but not bitter or angry. He reflects on what was lost without offering any solutions or hope for reconciliation. Instead, there’s a quiet recognition that the relationship has deteriorated beyond repair.

The final lines—where the speaker whispers an “incantation” about returning to the earth, “eat the earth’s salt and lard, lay down in the earth’s grave”—seem to embody a desperate longing for something raw and real, a return to the basics of life. But even this feels inadequate, like an empty ritual that can’t restore what has been lost. The speaker doesn’t seem to believe that there’s a way back, only an acceptance that everything has ended.

What’s most striking about “Serotonin” is how it captures the gradual erosion of intimacy. There’s no grand betrayal or dramatic blow-up in this poem; instead, it’s about the slow erosion of connection. The speaker doesn’t seem to know how to fix the relationship, and perhaps, neither does his partner. They both seem caught in their own lives, too far gone to find their way back to each other. It’s not about guilt or blame—it’s simply about a love that has withered in the face of time, routine, and emotional neglect.

The poem doesn’t offer any easy answers. There’s no redemption, no revelation, only the quiet acceptance that sometimes, relationships can’t be saved. The sadness of “Serotonin” lies in its refusal to provide closure or healing. It shows us the emotional decay of a relationship that both partners are too distant to repair. The lack of resolution leaves a lingering feeling of emptiness, of something irreparably broken, and it’s this quiet, resigned observation that makes the poem so powerful.

Photo by Ivan Calderon on Unsplash

Poem #371 – Reviewed

 Ana Luna Ivanković 

I wanted to write something
just for the sake of writing it.
Just to know I haven’t lost it
Just to know there are at least
words still living on the inside

It was all meaningless,
a little too much

…

You may find the rest of the poem here.

Poem #371

© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes 

Analysis

Poem #371 speaks to the paradox of creation—specifically, the frustration of trying to create when it feels like nothing is coming together. The poet starts by admitting that the desire to write is not driven by inspiration, but by a need for reassurance. They want to know that they haven’t lost their ability to create, that their words still exist inside them. The opening lines set the stage for a struggle that many can relate to: writing, not because something needs to be said, but just to feel like something is still alive.

The tension here is compelling because, while the poem describes the inability to create, it manages to be an engaging and accessible piece of writing in itself. This creates a kind of irony: the poet sets out to write something, feels that what they’re doing is meaningless, but in doing so, they end up creating something tangible, something that resonates. The act of writing about failure, in this case, leads to a successful poem, which deepens the poem’s paradox. It acknowledges emptiness and futility while still managing to produce something meaningful—this duality is at the core of what makes Poem #371 so interesting.

The structure of the poem mirrors the feeling of disarray and frustration. The short, fragmented lines and lack of punctuation create a sense of chaotic thought, almost as if the poet is unable to control or contain their ideas. The words spill out in a disjointed stream of consciousness, with no clear resolution or conclusion. This fragmented quality reflects the mental state of someone struggling to create: they’re trying, but nothing is coming together. The poem itself is a product of that very struggle—a work that feels incomplete but still manages to convey its message.

The tone of the poem is conflicted. There’s a sense of resignation in the line “It was all meaningless,” as if the poet is giving up on the act of creation. But there’s also frustration and disappointment beneath the surface, a sense that the poet is not just failing to create something good, but failing to create at all. The contrast between “too loud” and “quiet at the same time” captures this internal contradiction—the mind is full of noise, full of thoughts, but none of it feels coherent or useful. The effort is there, but the result doesn’t add up to anything.

The metaphors in the second stanza further highlight this sense of absence and frustration. The image of a blank canvas after hours of work suggests that the effort is real, but the result is nothing—no image, no meaning. Similarly, the guitar without strings and the sea without salt both evoke a sense of potential that has gone to waste, like something vital is missing. These are images of creation gone wrong, and they’re powerful because they’re so relatable. We’ve all felt that sense of putting in the work, but coming up empty.

But it’s the final image of the broken mirror that really drives home the poem’s theme. A mirror is supposed to reflect something—a person, an image, a truth—but here, it reflects nothing. This is the haunting image of a poet not just struggling with their creative process, but questioning their own sense of self. If the mirror shows nothing, then the poet is not just facing a creative block; they’re facing the possibility that there’s nothing inside to create with at all. The absence of reflection is a powerful symbol of self-doubt and creative despair.

Despite the theme of meaninglessness, the poem itself is far from meaningless. In describing the failure to create, the poet has created something that speaks to the universal experience of creative struggle. The poem captures a moment of doubt and frustration, but in doing so, it becomes a work that many readers can connect with. The lack of resolution in the poem only reinforces its honesty. There’s no tidy ending, no sudden moment of clarity or triumph, just the raw, unresolved feeling of creative block. But that’s part of what makes it compelling: the poet doesn’t shy away from their struggle but instead gives it form, even if that form is incomplete.

Ultimately, Poem #371 succeeds because it expresses a deep, relatable truth about the creative process. It’s a poem about the frustration of creation, but in its very creation, it proves that even in failure, there’s something worth saying. The poem doesn’t hide its emptiness; it embraces it, turning that very emptiness into something meaningful. The tension between effort and failure, creation and destruction, is what makes the poem both powerful and relatable. It acknowledges the struggle, but in doing so, it creates something that resonates with anyone who has ever faced the frustration of trying to create something worthwhile.

Photo by Jan Kahánek on Unsplash

November Poem – Review

Bob – Naive Haircuts

The sky is orange and sad and the leaves are blue.
What’s a comet to do? On one strange leg, wearing
A tiara of ice.

A vagabond sweater left on the lonesome train.
In the rain, the faux pearls feel at home.

You may find the rest of the poem here.

November Poem

© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes 

Analysis

“November Poem” invites us into a world that feels off-kilter, strange, and dreamlike—exactly how November often feels. The surreal imagery pulls you through bizarre, half-formed moments that don’t quite make sense, but somehow fit together in a way that feels emotionally true. The poem doesn’t try to explain why things are so odd; instead, it revels in that oddness, capturing the essence of the season in ways that are both unsettling and oddly beautiful.

The poem starts with a scene that’s off-balance from the very first line: “The sky is orange and sad and the leaves are blue.” These colors aren’t what we expect from autumn. Orange skies are usually warm and vibrant, but here, it’s paired with sadness. The blue leaves further deepen this sense of strangeness, creating a world that feels out of sync with the familiar hues of fall. It’s as if the landscape itself is reflecting some emotional dissonance, a feeling we often get in November when the season is shifting, and the world feels like it’s not quite right.

From there, the absurdity only grows. The comet “on one strange leg, wearing / A tiara of ice” is an image that is comical, yet tragic, adding a sense of awkwardness and fragility. This comet feels out of place, much like the way everything in November seems to be caught between two worlds—the fading warmth of fall and the encroaching cold of winter. The image of the comet may be a symbol of transition, something that’s losing its grace as the seasons change.

Then there’s the vagabond sweater, “left on the lonesome train,” an image that captures that feeling of being discarded or out of place. The sweater is a wanderer, abandoned, much like the fleeting moments and objects that fill November. Yet, the sweater somehow “feels at home” in the rain, a small moment of unexpected comfort in the discomfort of the season. It’s a reflection of how, in this time of transition, nothing quite belongs where it should, yet everything finds its place in its own strange way.

The surrealism deepens as the poem shifts into a more abstract territory. The line “Remember the espionage of daisies” feels especially odd. Daisies are typically symbols of innocence, but here, they’re doing something secretive and hidden. The idea of nature playing out its own covert actions is followed by “the rattling of apple blossoms” and “the paragraphs of dandelions”—images that feel disconnected from their usual meanings. Dandelions aren’t supposed to form paragraphs, and crocuses, which signal spring, are described as “heretic,” defying their natural place in the cycle of seasons. These images reflect the way November itself feels: a time when nature seems a little off, when things don’t follow the rules.

By the time the poem introduces the “conscious” surface of the moon and streetlights discussing Moby Dick, the surrealism reaches its peak. It’s absurd, yes, but it’s also in perfect harmony with the strange atmosphere that the poem has built. The moon, distant and cold, is suddenly aware of something we don’t understand, just as we may feel disoriented and aware of some underlying shift in the world during this transitional month. And the streetlights talking about a novel? It’s bizarre, but it feels right—like an extension of the weirdness of November, when we’re between worlds, unsure of where we fit or what’s real.

What the poem does so well is capture a mood more than a clear narrative. The images are disconnected and dreamlike, not offering explanations but instead letting the absurdity unfold. It’s a kind of broken narrative, where nature, time, and human-made objects all blur together. Through all of this, the poem gives a sense of something lost or slipping away—the vagabond sweater, the strange flowers, the awareness of the moon—all captured in fleeting moments that reflect a time of change. There’s a feeling of melancholy, but not one that demands resolution. Instead, it lets the oddness of the season speak for itself.

The tone of the poem is quiet and introspective, even though it’s filled with absurdities. It’s a meditation on the disconnectedness of the world, but also on the way we observe those strange moments. There’s a wistfulness, but it’s not heavy or sentimental. It’s like watching something slip by—like a comet or a forgotten sweater—and feeling that moment without needing to explain it. The surreal imagery doesn’t just create a strange world; it creates a feeling, one that resonates with the sense of unease that often comes with November. It’s a time when everything seems in flux, when things feel a little off but also deeply familiar.

Altogether, the poem embraces the absurdity of the world as it shifts from fall into winter, using surreal imagery to reflect the strange beauty of November. It doesn’t explain the chaos—it simply lets it exist. And in doing so, it captures the spirit of the season perfectly: disconnected, uncertain, and full of odd beauty.

Photo by Bernd Schulz on Unsplash

Camouflage? – Reviewed

Kim Whysall-Hammond

The colour of dragons
depends

Sweet green for new hatchlings
to hide in high grasses

Black and red for an Emperor
or a burner of crops

Many turn as gold as their treasure
perhaps part of ageing?

…

You may find the rest of the poem here.

Camouflage?

© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes 

Analysis

“Camouflage?” is a fascinating poem that blends fantasy with the real world, using the image of dragons to explore the theme of adaptation. The dragons in the poem change color depending on where they are—moving from natural environments to cities, their hues shift to match their surroundings. In doing so, the poem touches on how both mythical and real creatures blend into their environments, shaping their identities to fit in or survive.

The first part of the poem grounds the dragons in the natural world. The colors are tied to the elements: “sweet green for new hatchlings” suggests the dragons’ early life, hiding in grass to stay safe. Green here symbolizes youth, growth, and protection. As they grow older, the dragons take on darker, more powerful hues like “black and red for an Emperor,” signaling strength and authority. The final color, “gold as their treasure,” ties them to wealth and age—dragons becoming more visible as they mature. These colors reflect the natural world’s demands—camouflage for protection or visibility for dominance.

The shift in the poem happens when the dragons move into cities. The line “What of city dragons?” marks the transition, suggesting that even these mythical creatures must adapt to new, more populated environments. The dragons, no longer hidden in wild places, now take on the colors of the cities they inhabit. In Paris, they are “creamy white as the buildings,” blending with the city’s classic architecture. In Berlin and London, their colors shift to “a glassy hue / Criss-crossed,” reflecting the modern, reflective glass structures that define the skylines. In Amsterdam, the dragons turn “turquoise and purple / With scarlet undertones,” colors that echo the city’s lively, eclectic spirit.

This change in the dragons’ colors—from the natural world to the urban one—highlights the difference between the two environments. In nature, the dragons’ colors are a way of blending in, of hiding or protecting themselves. In the cities, however, the colors are a way of fitting in with the modern world. The dragons shift their appearance to match the architecture, taking on the colors and energy of the city itself. This shift suggests that adaptation in the urban world is about visibility, not hiding. The dragons no longer need to blend into the environment for survival; they now adapt to belong in it.

The poem reflects on how our environments shape us, both in nature and in cities. Just as the dragons change color to match their surroundings, people often adjust their appearance and behavior when they move between different places. The cities are not just backdrops for the dragons; they actively shape the dragons’ identities. The colors of the dragons are not just about blending in—they seem to take on the essence of the cities they visit, almost as if they’re absorbing the spirit of each place. Paris, with its white buildings, lends its timeless elegance to the dragons; Berlin and London, with their modern glass facades, create sleek, criss-crossed patterns; and Amsterdam gives the dragons vibrant, bold hues, reflecting the city’s creative energy.

The poem also suggests that change, whether in the natural world or in human-made environments, is part of survival. The dragons’ colors are not just about hiding or protecting themselves; they are about belonging to a new world. In nature, camouflage serves to keep the dragons safe, but in the city, their changing colors reflect their need to fit in, to be seen and understood as part of the environment.

The structure of the poem complements this theme of adaptation. The lines are short and broken, mirroring the fluidity of the dragons’ color changes. The lack of a strict pattern in the poem’s rhythm and line breaks adds to the feeling of movement, as though we’re watching the dragons change before our eyes. The poem moves seamlessly between the natural world and the urban world, much like the dragons shift from one environment to the next. The poem’s free-flowing structure mirrors the dragons’ ability to adapt and transform.

Overall, “Camouflage?” is a meditation on identity, adaptation, and the way our environments shape us. By using the imagery of dragons changing colors to fit into both the natural world and cities, the poem highlights the idea that we, like the dragons, are constantly adjusting to the spaces we inhabit. Whether we’re blending in with nature or navigating the complexity of urban life, we, too, change our colors to survive, belong, or simply fit in. The poem leaves us thinking about how we all adapt, in big or small ways, to the places and people around us.

Photo by Chris Andrawes on Unsplash

Gathering – Reviewed

Bartholomew Barker

The chaos of cousins who haven’t seen
each other since last Thanksgiving
bursts through the front door
with the aroma of roasting turkey.

Aunts and uncles catching up
over a pot of boiling giblets,

…

You may find the rest of the poem here.

Gathering

© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes 

Analysis

“Gathering” brings to life the complex, often contradictory energy of family reunions. On one hand, it’s about the noise—the “chaos of cousins” rushing through the door, the kids trying to sneak bites of pumpkin, and the adults catching up over pots of boiling giblets. This chaotic, joyful energy is something we all recognize from family gatherings. It’s a celebration of being together, the kind of disordered fun that can only happen when loved ones reconnect after time apart.

But what stands out in the poem is how this noisy, active scene contrasts with quieter moments of reflection and tradition. The turning point comes when “Mom inherits the old apron,” an item that holds a deep connection to the past. The apron, with its design of “corn, beans, and squash,” is more than just a piece of clothing—it’s a link to the grandmother, to generations of care and cooking, and to the rituals that define the family’s identity. The apron, still “smelling like grandmother’s hugs,” offers a moment of pause amid the energy of the gathering. It serves as a grounding force, symbolizing continuity even as the dynamics of the family shift and change.

This juxtaposition of chaos and calm—the lively cousins and the quiet apron—is central to the poem’s impact. The cousins’ excitement, the fast-moving energy of the gathering, is a reminder of how family life is always evolving. There’s something both exhilarating and overwhelming about it. Yet, against this movement, the apron’s steady, timeless presence reminds us of the things that don’t change—the memories and traditions that carry through from one generation to the next. The apron is a symbol of the family’s roots, a physical embodiment of all that has come before. It’s a part of the present, yet deeply tied to the past.

The poem doesn’t just capture the hectic moments of family life; it also gives space to quieter reflections, like the “moment of grace” around the old oak table. This pause, where the family remembers the grandmother, brings a sense of reverence into the scene. It’s a contrast to the earlier chaos and gives depth to the gathering, showing how even in the midst of celebration, there’s room for honoring those who came before. The noise of the family quiets for just a moment, and that stillness allows space for memory and gratitude.

The way the poem shifts between these moments—the lively arrivals of the cousins and the quieter remembrance of the grandmother—captures the ebb and flow of family life. There’s always a balance between the noise of the present and the pull of the past. Family traditions, even in their most chaotic moments, are anchored in something deeper. In “Gathering,” the apron becomes a symbol of that balance, connecting the energy of the present with the quiet reverence of the past.

Ultimately, the poem is about how the things that matter most—the connections, the traditions, the memories—remain with us even as life changes. The loud moments of family gatherings, with all their messiness and joy, are always paired with the quiet echoes of those who came before. The poem captures this rhythm of family life beautifully, showing that even in the chaos, there’s something lasting, something that ties us together across time.

Photo by Stefan Vladimirov on Unsplash

A Poetic Warning (Revisited) – Reviewed

David Redpath

In a former life
Of chaos and disorder
Through a cosmic haze
Of bloodshed and strife
I well remember
A pilgrimage metaphysical
Seeking wisdom ancient
And knowledge mystical
From a secret agent
By the mythical code name
Brainwave Alpha
“First … you need learn how to fly,
if indeed, you wish to kiss the sky.”
With a flash of white light
And the clap of thunder

…

You may find the rest of the poem here.

A Poetic Warning (Revisited)

© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes 

Analysis

In “A Poetic Warning (Revisited),” the poem takes us on a wild, psychedelic journey of spiritual searching, pulling in elements of mysticism, music, and cultural disillusionment. The speaker starts in a chaotic, disordered state, yearning for something greater — wisdom, enlightenment, maybe a utopian vision. But this search, as it unfolds, reveals itself to be more complex, shifting between idealism and disillusionment, with music, particularly Bob Dylan’s work, playing a critical role in that evolution.

From the very beginning, the theme revolves around the tension between transcendence and the inevitable letdown that often follows the pursuit of idealized states. The speaker describes a journey for wisdom, led by a mysterious figure, Brainwave Alpha, who offers a cryptic message: “First … you need learn how to fly, / if indeed, you wish to kiss the sky.” This is a metaphor for reaching a higher state, for seeking something more than the mundane — spiritual or intellectual enlightenment. But the journey isn’t just about ascension; it’s about the disillusionment that comes when that pursuit doesn’t pan out the way we imagine it will.

The quest for enlightenment is framed by an overwhelming sense of cosmic wonder, heightened by vivid, dreamlike imagery. Phrases like “a flash of white light,” “clap of thunder,” and “riding the crest of a wave” evoke the sensation of being on a trippy, mind-bending adventure. But despite the beauty and intensity of the experience, doubts begin to creep in. The speaker questions whether this mystical, higher realm is really “heaven,” or simply an illusion. The very idea of a “higher dimension of perpetual bliss” starts to feel more like an empty promise than a tangible reality.

It’s at this critical juncture that Bob Dylan enters the poem as a pivotal figure. Dylan’s music, specifically the song Gates of Eden, becomes a sharp reminder of reality, cutting through the haze of idealism. Dylan’s role in the poem is not just symbolic; it’s a wake-up call. He comes in with his harmonica and electric guitar, almost like a modern-day prophet, pulling the speaker out of their blissed-out trance. The phrase “a poetic warning that cut like a knife” signals this shift. Dylan’s song critiques the utopian visions the speaker has been chasing, suggesting that these idealized paradises are hollow, built on false promises.

This turning point in the poem brings us to a structural shift. In the beginning, the poem’s form feels loose, fluid, and expansive, mirroring the speaker’s dreamy journey. The lack of a set rhythm or pattern enhances the feeling of drifting through cosmic realms. However, as Dylan’s song interrupts the flow, the poem tightens in focus. The speaker is jolted back to a grounded, more reflective place. This shift in structure, from freeform to something more direct, mirrors the change in tone from mystical reverie to sober reflection.

The tone of the poem evolves with this shift. At first, it’s full of wonder and curiosity, the speaker caught up in the euphoria of a transcendental pursuit. But as the doubts start to surface, the tone becomes more skeptical. The appearance of Dylan marks the most significant tonal change, as the speaker now faces the hard truth that their quest for a perfect paradise is, at best, misguided. This realization is not just disheartening; it’s sharp, almost sardonic, as the speaker understands that chasing utopia often leads to disappointment rather than fulfillment. The tone, once airy and expansive, becomes more grounded and ironic — a clear critique of the illusions that come with seeking a perfect world.

Music, especially Bob Dylan’s song lyrics, serves as the key to unlocking this disillusionment. The reference to Gates of Eden adds a cultural and philosophical layer to the poem. Dylan’s lyrics in the song point out the futility of seeking a perfect, idealized paradise — a theme that resonates deeply in the poem. In Gates of Eden, Dylan describes a world that, while seemingly perfect, is unattainable and, ultimately, empty. The line “with a time-rusted compass blade / Aladdin and his lamp / Sits with Utopian hermit monks” suggests that those who chase such dreams end up disconnected from any real wisdom. They are sitting alongside false idols, like the “Golden Calf,” worshipping empty promises. The idea that “you will not hear a laugh, all except inside the Gates of Eden” is especially poignant, as it highlights the irony and emptiness of chasing unattainable ideals.

Ultimately, A Poetic Warning (Revisited) is about the realization that the pursuit of transcendence — whether spiritual, intellectual, or otherwise — can be a hollow and disillusioning experience. The structure of the poem, with its loose and expansive beginning, mirrors the carefree pursuit of enlightenment, while the tightening focus toward the end reflects the sobering realization that such pursuits often lead to disappointment. The poem warns against idealizing utopia, showing how such a vision can become a trap — something that looks beautiful but proves empty once attained. Dylan’s music offers the sobering clarity needed to see through the illusion.

The message of the poem is a powerful one: wisdom doesn’t always come from ascension or from searching for an ideal world. Sometimes, it comes from understanding the limitations of these pursuits and facing the reality that perfection is not something we can attain. The speaker’s journey through cosmic realms ultimately leads to the understanding that seeking wisdom involves accepting imperfection, and that real enlightenment might come from the most unexpected places, like a song, a moment of clarity, or a shift in perspective. The poem’s reference to Dylan serves as a reminder that wisdom, though often elusive, is not about escaping the world but about confronting it as it is.

Photo by Lacey Williams on Unsplash

SEDUCTION – Review

Gabriela Milton

the rhythm of castanets awakens the moon
on opal rings your kisses spin
a cricket’s hitting a crescendo
waves tattoo dark shadows on your skin
sonority, you who vibrates the souls
of those who haunt at night the Port of Cartagena

I toss in smells of apricots and plumes
the Hand of Fatima takes off my veils
your forehead sinks into the sweat of lovers
who sever their veins

…

You may find the rest of the poem here.

Thanksgiving wishes, a poem, and more on Celebrating Poetry by Cindy Georgakas

© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes 

Analysis

In “Seduction,” the poem delves into the complexity of desire, attraction, and the roles that both lover and beloved play in the act of seduction. It doesn’t just recount a romantic exchange—it plunges the reader into the very experience of seduction itself, showing how fluid and shifting these roles can be. Throughout the poem, the boundaries between the one doing the seducing and the one being seduced blur, creating an atmosphere of confusion and tension that mirrors the contradictory nature of romantic and sexual encounters.

From the start, the poem conjures a world that is both familiar and otherworldly. Imagery like the “rhythm of castanets” and the moon’s “awakening” immediately sets a tone of intense sensuality. The scene is charged with physical sensations—sounds, smells, textures—that create a powerful, almost cinematic experience. But the poem also carries a deeper, more mystical quality, as if the seduction is tied to forces beyond the control of either participant. The mention of the moon and “sonority,” for instance, hints at something cosmic or inevitable about the attraction between the two. It’s as if seduction isn’t just an act of two people coming together, but a force that sweeps them into its current, compelling them to follow paths they may not fully understand.

This blending of the physical and the mystical deepens as the poem progresses. The speaker’s surrender to the act of seduction becomes apparent when the Hand of Fatima takes away their veils, a powerful symbol of protection and fate. The removal of the veil here is significant—it’s not an act of the speaker’s own doing, but something that happens to them. This suggests that in the act of seduction, one can lose control, not only of their body but of their very identity. The Hand of Fatima becomes an external force that pulls the speaker further into this seductive world, marking a moment of both vulnerability and inevitability.

In this way, the poem plays with the idea of power in relationships—who holds it and how it shifts between the lovers. The speaker’s role is complicated: they are at once an active participant and a passive object of desire. The lines “your forehead sinks into the sweat of lovers / who sever their veins” describe a kind of mutual loss, an emotional and physical sacrifice that both parties share. Love here is presented as something that demands a high cost—perhaps even a kind of destruction. The image of lovers “severing their veins” suggests that seduction comes with the potential for both intimacy and harm, an exchange that leaves both parties exposed and vulnerable.

This sense of sacrifice and transformation is echoed in the closing lines: “it wasn’t me / it was you who stole his soul.” Here, the speaker shifts the blame to the lover, acknowledging that seduction is not a one-sided act. The lover’s words—“I love you”—are steeped in myth, and by saying “you stepped on roads of fables and folk tales,” the speaker links their experience to something larger, almost inevitable. The act of seduction is part of a grand narrative, a cycle of power and loss that transcends individual encounters. Yet, in placing the blame on the lover, the speaker also points to their own complicity. Seduction isn’t just about one person taking; it’s about a shared experience that leaves both parties irrevocably changed.

The poem’s imagery constantly moves between the personal and the universal, the real and the imagined. The line “you glued your heart onto a purple sunset” is one of many moments where the lover’s emotions seem both passionate and fleeting, bound to something ephemeral. Here, the heart is attached to a sunset—a symbol of something beautiful but doomed to fade. This gives the poem a sense of both intensity and transience, a reminder that desire can be overwhelming but also passing, like the tides or the seasons.

“Seduction” doesn’t resolve the conflict it presents; instead, it leaves the roles of lover and beloved ambiguous and fluid. It’s as if seduction itself is a force that defies easy explanation, where identities shift and change, and where the one who seems in control may be just as lost as the one being seduced. The final realization that “it wasn’t me / it was you who stole his soul” underscores the complexity of these roles. It’s not just a story of one person being taken, but a mutual transformation that leaves both parties marked. The poem leaves us with the sense that seduction, love, and desire are not static—they are constantly in flux, like the mythic tales and fables that have been passed down through generations.

Ultimately, the poem explores how attraction can transcend the personal, becoming part of something larger, timeless, and mythological. The language of folklore, the references to symbols like the Hand of Fatima, and the suggestion that seduction is something both spiritual and transformative give the poem an emotional depth that lingers long after the words end. In the end, “Seduction” is a meditation on how love, desire, and power constantly shift between the lovers, leaving them both altered, lost in the ebb and flow of desire’s pull.

Hands of Fatima

The hamsa, also known as the Hand of Fatima, is a palm-shaped amulet that has been used for centuries across North Africa, the Middle East, and parts of Europe. It features the image of an open hand and is traditionally believed to offer protection against the evil eye, a harmful gaze thought to bring bad luck or illness. This symbol, representing five fingers, is often used in jewelry, wall hangings, and other decorative items.

Historically, the hamsa has roots in several ancient cultures. The earliest examples can be traced back to Mesopotamian and Phoenician artifacts, where it was associated with goddesses and used as a protective symbol. In ancient Carthage, it appeared as part of religious symbols dedicated to deities like Tanit, and it is also seen in early Jewish and Christian contexts. Over time, it became a common amulet among Sephardic Jews, who believed in its power to ward off the evil eye, a concept prevalent in Mediterranean cultures.

The hamsa has different meanings depending on the culture. In Jewish tradition, it is often linked to the “strong hand” of God, mentioned in the Bible as the force that led the Israelites out of Egypt. In Islamic culture, it became known as the Hand of Fatima, named after the daughter of the Prophet Muhammad, and is seen as a symbol of divine protection. Among Christians in the Levant, it is called the Hand of Mary, referring to the Virgin Mary’s protective qualities.

The amulet’s symbolism is deeply connected to the concept of protection and blessings. It is typically depicted with the fingers spread apart to ward off negative energy or closed together to bring good fortune. In many cultures, it is also adorned with an eye symbol to strengthen its power against the evil eye. The number five, which corresponds to the five fingers of the hand, is another key element, representing various forms of protection and good luck.

In modern times, the hamsa has become a popular symbol beyond religious and cultural boundaries. It is often used as a “good luck” charm and can be found in a variety of forms, from jewelry to home decor. While it lost some of its traditional religious significance during the modernization of the Middle East, it has since made a resurgence as a secular symbol of protection and positivity.

Today, the hamsa is still widely used in the Middle East, North Africa, and beyond, especially in jewelry, art, and other cultural expressions. Its enduring popularity highlights its continued cultural importance as a symbol of safeguarding against misfortune.

Photo by Nahid Hatami on Unsplash