Two white-gloved Marines
rang the bell, stood
on our stoop. My father
watched their car
pull away, then locked
the wooden door. I went
to our room, climbed
into the top bunk,
pounded a hard ball
into his pillow. My mother
found her Bible, took
out my brother’s letters,
put them in the pocket
of her blue robe.
From » “1969″ by Tony Gloeggler Rattle: Poetry for the 21st Century
Today, a chance email from one of the poets/writers who attended the Singapore Writers’ Meetup I addressed while I was out there has reminded me how much I’ve loved Tony Gloeggler’s poetry. There’s something beautifully concrete about his work, as oxymoronic as that may seem. Concrete. Not pretty. Not high falutin’. A lack of artifice or embellishment. A willingness to say what needs to be said, no matter how uncomfortable. And beautiful all the way. Head to Rattle to read the full poem. And look for more.
Thank you, Yu Yan.
Source: rattle.com
Hello! I'm Jacob Sam-La Rose. I've been described as a poet, tech head, educator, and all round literary whirlwind. I do web, old cameras and good things with words. Thanks for stopping by. Again, soon?