... of a gap in the NM poetry firmament. No more wonderful Wayne's List winging its way here from Las Cruces. Wayne Crawford writes...
During the last decade, Wayne's listserv for writers has helped promote well over one thousand literary events. Alas, there will be no more of Wayne's Literary lists. For health reasons, it must be discontinued. I want to thank all of you who attended and supported lit events and those who sent information to be included in the lists. I hope you will continue to seek out these events and continue to support our writers and poets, their publications, and the readings and open mics where they share their work and develop our community. Wayne
What better farewell than in his own write... more about Wayne and more poetry links
Heroes
Superman .... of course. I've written a series of poems about him. Here's one that listeners always seem to enjoy.
Clark Kent Takes Off....
Sunday night is the time he colors his hair.
He's tried for years to undo the callick
that twists his hair into one big curl
on his forehead, but thinning, trimming,
graying and spraying haven't loosened its grip.
Last year, the x-rays began blurring a little.
He could still see the big picture
but the little things weren't so keenly
recognizable--pocket knives, for example,
or a stolen key in a breast pocket. He needed
to wear prescription glasses
to read fine print. And the glare of lights
during night flying had never been worse.
He was fine in the air but lift-offs and landings
--painful! Doctor attributed arthritis
to his arches. Of course, the doctor
didn't know about Mr. Kent's secret life,
the burden he placed on his feet, bounding
into space, lifting the weight of the world,
constantly landing on surfaces meant
for rubber tires.
You're strong as an ox, his doctor said.
Fundamentally, there's nothing wrong
with your body, nothing except your nerves.
Your nerves are like steel. You mustn't give
all of your energy to The Daily Planet. Keep it
up, even your strength will dissipate.
You must listen, Mr. Kent. You must relax.
This evening's news headlines
reported a crime spree in Metropolis.
I probably shouldn't reveal this
but Superman woke up today, massaged
his feet, and went back to bed.
Superman .... of course. I've written a series of poems about him. Here's one that listeners always seem to enjoy.
Clark Kent Takes Off....
Sunday night is the time he colors his hair.
He's tried for years to undo the callick
that twists his hair into one big curl
on his forehead, but thinning, trimming,
graying and spraying haven't loosened its grip.
Last year, the x-rays began blurring a little.
He could still see the big picture
but the little things weren't so keenly
recognizable--pocket knives, for example,
or a stolen key in a breast pocket. He needed
to wear prescription glasses
to read fine print. And the glare of lights
during night flying had never been worse.
He was fine in the air but lift-offs and landings
--painful! Doctor attributed arthritis
to his arches. Of course, the doctor
didn't know about Mr. Kent's secret life,
the burden he placed on his feet, bounding
into space, lifting the weight of the world,
constantly landing on surfaces meant
for rubber tires.
You're strong as an ox, his doctor said.
Fundamentally, there's nothing wrong
with your body, nothing except your nerves.
Your nerves are like steel. You mustn't give
all of your energy to The Daily Planet. Keep it
up, even your strength will dissipate.
You must listen, Mr. Kent. You must relax.
This evening's news headlines
reported a crime spree in Metropolis.
I probably shouldn't reveal this
but Superman woke up today, massaged
his feet, and went back to bed.
.. also no longer accepting submissions but still online for you to read and enjoy:
LUNAROSITY Vol. 9. No. 7.
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