KC Trommer
We have decided to love trees. The living ones
                are corralled along the sidewalks in cities.
                                The dying ones, once glorious,
                                                                    collapsed into dust from not being seen.
                                                Those in forests
                                                                    wave their hair and hands whenever the wind blows.

When he runs the track, they are behind him and all around the park.

                                Against the grey sky, they are like nerves pulled from the body,
                waving, sucking air, sucking dirt.

He starts clean but comes around
                                                the seventh time sweating, soaking his shirt through,
                                                                    giving me a little wave for my whistle.
.
A sliver of Einstein’s brain blown up under the microscope shows
                                                                    all the branches
                                                of where his thoughts went. Still waving.

                Around the track the trees wave through the grey afternoon sky,
                                                like mute women trying to alert me to an emergency.
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"Click Here to Short Your Cynicism"

"Living up to his first name, Zohar Atkins is a rabbi and theologian, and a poet who can rhyme 'mystical' with 'listicle.' His first collection, Nineveh, takes delight in bringing disciplines and dictions together to interrogate history and each other. Incantation and instruction, meditation techniques and the social media, meet in this week’s poem, which takes the shape of a parodic listicle."

via THE GUARDIAN
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Susan Tichy's handwritten lines from Gary Snyder's "Logging"
What Sparks Poetry:
Susan Tichy on Gary Snyder's
"Logging"

"I was eighteen when I picked up the original edition of Snyder’s Myths & Texts....I had been writing poems for several years, and even had published a few, but something new happened in those pages: I heard/saw for the first time how a web of sound could juxtapose unadorned image + simple statement into something…not exactly larger than its parts, but other than its parts. No longer were expansive and intensive poetics opposed: they were allies, creating the voice of a mind and a body finding place on earth."
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