Anne Birkam

Ghosts

She haunts me – or is it he? the slave who is not named, and yes, I know they mostly existed like a dish or a cow, a bit of earth, he-she property of human shame, acknowledged by pride of statue and lineage I can trace – the owner is my ancestor, the owned –Continue reading “Ghosts”

All hallowed eve

On all hallowed eve the ghouls descend from the picture perfect walls – this graveyard where the past is hanging is a gallery of echoes – pyramids of the Nile and Alabama’s cotton fields where souls are hijacked by the fluidity of words – no substance to the language of a ghoul. Men of strawContinue reading “All hallowed eve”

I might find it amusing

I might find it amusing to watch Rome fall Ii I was a Toltec or a visitor from Mars. I’d smile at every shout of greatness as they tarry off to hell, but then the iter carries me and I can only weep for once was great society rambunctious in their words turned sycophant andContinue reading “I might find it amusing”

Throw that stick

Throw that stick! Toss that stone! Your tweet belongs to you alone. The First Amendment guarantees your right to say whatever you please. So publish Wolff, and have your say- to the death I defend it to my dying day. 2018

Birds of a feather

The sparrow houses young in crevices come spring- the constant chatter is how he sparkles, and to the feeder he swarms – no fault of his own this internment on American shores. The bane of farmer and woodpecker the starling has from Europe brought a foreign sound to every native thing. The sweeping murmuration smallContinue reading “Birds of a feather”

Poem

A poem is like a bird as it takes off into flight, when you think you have it down, it reveals Aladdin’s touch. A merlin’s turning head transforms to peregrine, and sometimes all you see is a buteo sitting there. A sparrow singing songs is likely just to be sitting on a tree limb withoutContinue reading “Poem”

To boast or to keen

I do not know the language of threading terror – words that leap like fleas upon the trusty dog. This usage is beyond all playground shouting, Backroom brawling is now in the spectator’s vision. No scope is needed to identify the telltale white – underside, wing-bar, rump, all plainly seen. The grass in winter isContinue reading “To boast or to keen”

The book of forgetting

It nests within carpet fibers, that enter the room thought, lint blows after you when you leave, nudging at your back – backtrack yet again and you wonder how soon will you be your mother, sitting in her chair without the days of yesteryear. This herb is for remembrance yet it slips beyond my tongue.Continue reading “The book of forgetting”

When the students marched

When the students marched to merely stay alive, sad death awoke the slumber of troll lying in the murk and like the proverbial long-lived cat he came back with thunderbolt. His eyes gape wide and round and land upon a child – she wise beyond his braggadocio. The lurker tries to silence Emma and David’sContinue reading “When the students marched”

From Russia with love

“I think I’d get along very well with Vladimir Putin. I just think so,” Trump said in one of his first comments about the Russian leader since launching his presidential bid last June. 7/31/2015 The poet’s corner rests in the line where mothers wait, any word will do – does he live or is heContinue reading “From Russia with love”