Details |
Stephen Sullivan Poem
The windows shimmer in a fit of snow and wind, early in the season,
with a smack of uncertainty. Snow and bitter cold frost the glass like
half of Dad’s old Chess pieces. Through glass we peer dimly as if looking
for a dream.
Playing Chega de Saudade on a dry piano carries authentic tones
of the bitterness which Dr. Denning captured in her account of a
1970s or 80s trip to Russia among Bohemians yearning to hold on
to an unbridled youth and freedom not possible in the West since.
I never read her book but find its contents indelible some 15 years
since taking her class in the early months of 2008. Through the glass
passes fleeting scenes of the past to make the world a little warmer.
Two timelines eventually converge into one, leaving the rubbish behind.
Copyright © Stephen Sullivan | Year Posted 2023
|
Details |
Stephen Sullivan Poem
Thousand utensils
cookie crumbles on the floor
Enough garbage to feed Rhode Island
Relaxing sauna for dead poultry
Cookie crumbles on the floor
Each lunch lady’s ear is in tune with the system
Relaxing sauna for dead poultry
Keeps it fresh
Each lunch lady’s ear is in tune with the system
Enough garbage to feed Rhode Island
Keeps it fresh
Thousand utensils
(2007)
Copyright © Stephen Sullivan | Year Posted 2021
|
Details |
Stephen Sullivan Poem
Eating more Mexican food than most of Texas
is not something one should be proud of. If
all the wisdom of man is mere foolishness,
all the tacos you can eat are mere stomachache.
Along the way I’ve rediscovered herbal tea,
that proverbial panacea in a land of coffee and Coca-Cola.
Fresh off the binge I love pure water and pumping iron,
though what’s heavy isn’t just metal or military presses.
Try as I might to be beholden to a higher commander.
Off the binge, now is a time that goals and dreams be
elevated as never before. I begin to power forward from petit fours.
Copyright © Stephen Sullivan | Year Posted 2021
|