If Zebras Ruled the World (Thunk Poem 1, for Ian Gilbert)

Would there be no racism,

if zebras ruled the world?

All black and white,

no wrong or right,

a flag of unity, unfurled?

Would we return to nature,

nourished by grass?

An Alice-like adventure,

encouraged to ditch class,

an absurd herd, no trace

of a bigot’s baton, twirled –

Would there be no racism,

if zebras ruled the world?

New Book – Forest Voices

Another outpouring of great poetry from a true master. As the proud owner of many of Paul F. Lenzi’s books, I can genuinely say ‘Buy one, I’m gonna!’

Poesy plus Polemics

I am pleased to announce that my latest book

Forest Voices: Whispers from the New Hampshire Woods

is now available at Amazon in paperback and kindle editions, as well as at Barnes & Noble, or through your local bookseller in more than 100 countries.

This represents my 21st volume of collected original poetry, and my 4th poetry chapbook.

BookCoverImage (21) Published by Stonewood Press – 104 pages

If you would like inscribed and/or autographed copies of any of my books, please contact me by e-mail at pflenzi@aol.com

City of Pawns

Range of Motion

Two-Cornered Rooms

Pentimento

Music of Scars

Bullets from Bones

Bohemian Scents

Inside the Smoke

Pieces of Wine

Ephemera

Small Noise

Squaring the Circle

Onionskin

Human Waters

Legacies – Volume 1

Legacies – Volume 2

Riverthink

Whittlings

Atlas of Clouds

Vicissitudes

– PFL

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Knowing

Knowing

(For Brenda Read-Brown)

Note: The final two lines are from a poem called ‘Flagship’ from Brenda’s book; ‘Arbitrary Edges’. You can buy Brenda’s brilliant collection here: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Arbitrary-edges-Brenda-Read-Brown/dp/1291376909

 

 

I was only two poems in

before I had to stop

and write something,

moved by a line

that defined the truth,

so many pretend to ignore.

Smitten by something

you had written

in my youth, proof

that love cares not for age,

a page of your thoughts,

penned almost perfectly before

you could possibly know

they would echo

evermore.

And I knew you knew me,

and I burned, my heart,

tearing at the seems,

‘and I learned that aching feet

are the realities of dreams.’

Penned Prostitution

Waste words in notebooks,

the coat-hooks of stories,

penned imperfections

and potential glories,

will words to wander,

and please – punctuate

the loss and the cost

of fables and fate.

 

Waste words on paper,

drape her in prose,

will words to wander

and juxtapose,

if words could whisper,

what would they say?

“Burn the thesaurus,

don’t whore us away!”