jaho window

The day is a poem. I cannot write one.
I’ll tell you why the day is a poem. Okay. So:
It has some wind, clouds, rain: a warm January day;
It was a warm December, bereft of snow,
So this day symbolizes, with its warm cloudiness,
The whole winter so far: everything is going to be okay.
The shortness of the day provides a certain gloom,
The darkness from the clouds feels a little sad,
The kind you get in a warm, dimly-lighted room,
And the dampness is like a melody in a minor key,

But if there is a poem here, today is its tomb
And that’s what I need to explain:
I don’t want you to think my poem and day agree;
There isn’t any trick this poem is playing.
The “Bottled Liquors” sign of the liquor store
Across the street as I sit with my coffee here,
Slouching and writing, is not what I’m saying.
This windy day prevents a poem, not because there is more
Poetry in it than I can capture; there’s poems in this day,
And theater—tables with Greek chorus—in this café, sure.
But what I mean by: “this day is a poem. I cannot write one,”
Is a truth not always so, and it may not be true tomorrow.
It has to do with me, and my feelings. Probably my sorrow.








  1. January 19, 2016 at 9:51 pm

    Could you please not use initial caps? It comes over as outdated, and you are very much living in 2016.

    • thomasbrady said,

      January 19, 2016 at 10:29 pm

      Thank you, Duncan.

      • noochinator said,

        January 23, 2016 at 9:51 pm

        What does “initial caps” mean, capitalizing every letter of the title of the post?

        My second question is, aren’t the titles of poems usually rendered in capital letters?

        • thomasbrady said,

          January 24, 2016 at 2:37 pm

          He refers to my habit of capitalizing the beginning of each line, which projects a formalist intent: my poetry is NOT broken-up prose! (Excuse the angry caps)

          • noochinator said,

            January 24, 2016 at 6:07 pm

            Ah, I see — well, bell hooks would agree with him — here’s an excerpt from her Appalachian Elegy, poem #3:


            night moves
            through thick dark
            a heavy silence outside
            near the front window
            a black bear
            stamps down plants
            pushing back brush
            fleeing man-made
            roaming unfettered
            any place can become home
            strutting down
            a steep hill
            as though freedom
            is all
            in the now
            no past
            no present

            bell hooks

            BTW, how come bell hooks never makes it into the Scarriet Top 100?

            • thomasbrady said,

              January 27, 2016 at 1:46 am

              The zeitgeist poetry radar hasn’t seen her yet. Maybe it will.

  2. Andrew said,

    January 23, 2016 at 8:01 pm

    I gotta say that typographically,
    Duncan ROCKS !

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