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Poetry

Gary Glauber

gary

Gary Glauber is a poet, fiction writer, teacher, and former music journalist. His works have received multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominations. He champions the underdog to the melodic rhythms of obscure power pop. His collection, Small Consolations (Aldrich Press) is available through Amazon, as is a chapbook, Memory Marries Desire (Finishing Line Press). A new poetry collection, Worth the Candle, was just published by Five Oaks Press.

Senescence

It’s never what you expect.
The event that changed the world
happened against the backdrop
of a beautiful Tuesday morning.

It’s never the same again.
Each moment brings change:
the dark shroud grows blacker,
the introspection deeper,
the prayers more desperate.

It’s never an invitation to silence.
We’re expected to speak our minds,
voice thoughtful concerns, formed
in calm reasonable tones, outside
plagues of fearful panic that
infect the ubiquitous daily media.

It’s never going to go as planned.
The breathless realizations as
things go awry, deteriorate
into surprising downward spiral
as rapid descent occurs.

It’s never what you expect.
So savor the safe illusions, make
each grateful moment count
as silent countdown shouts
background noise, ticking,
ticking, ticking away.

Medusa

A walking poster for tales of misery,
she lives variants of holy horrible.

Stories of children, relatives, spouses, strangers,
all blessed with the curse of her acquaintance.

Sad tales of fates gone strangely awry,
shaking off hope with a nonchalant shrug.

I was drawn to that casual despair’s beauty,
the forlorn siren song in minor key,

how strangers might find her strangely
alluring, messenger of best intentions

misshapen through anxious energies
somehow beyond her sweet control.

As she starts the next related calamity,
I am off imagining her passions in bed,

the wild call of her feral ferocity,
unleashed like hog speeding full throttle.

I smile & nod in sympathy, half listening
to story of fire, crash, untoward accident.

It’s like an illness I can’t quite shake,
this flailing appeal of her gloomy miasma

because after a time, her terrible tales
make daily strife seem somehow reasonable.

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