Tuesday 9 February 2021

Five Tanka Poems by Kenneth Pobo


The sun got drunk on

Bourbon Street.  The moon, also

loaded, couldn’t help

the sun get up—dark morning,

yet we ate beignets and laughed.



Look, you clear cutters

turning this forest to stumps,

do you fear falling

asleep?  What blades come after

you when you slide to a dream?



This morning a snake

suns by a red petunia.

I have much to learn

from him—like how to relax

instead of pleasing long lists.



Before I retired,

I was a withering fern.

Fresh rain shakes spider

webs.  My scraggly roots grip down,

pull the thirsty ground closer.



My husband Stan is

a funny man.  When Odin appears,

he’s polite--but he

bops his wise heavenly head

when he grabs the Sudoku.



Kenneth Pobo is the author of twenty-one chapbooks and nine full-length collections.  Recent books include Bend of Quiet (Blue Light Press), Loplop in a Red City (Circling Rivers), and Uneven Steven (Assure Press). Opening is forthcoming from Rectos Y Versos Editions. Lavender Fire, Lavender Rose is forthcoming from Brick/House Books.


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