Three Poems by J. B. Hogan

 

A Species of Evolution

 

Spinning round and round 

racing at breakneck speed 

within a never-ending circle 

no end in sight or thought. 

 

Scurrying forward, sniffing air  

for food or danger, dead end met, 

noted, steps retraced seeking open 

path to hoped for freedom, success. 

 

Buzzing in the fragrant air 

flitting here and there, steadily working,  

toiling for hive and more, 

maker of sweet, sticky elixir.  

 

Hurrying along arranged tracks 

sprinting up and back, side to side, 

burrowing in steady patterns 

labouring for collective and more. 

 

Rushing to sterile cubicle 

grinding away slow-moving day, 

slogging forward in lockstep, 

industrious vassal in corporate fiefdom.

 

 

 

Cold, Revealing Light

 

Erasing books, erasing truth 

the censors never sleep; 

restless, anxious, cutting this, 

deleting that, protecting all 

from loose words, free thoughts, 

imagination, logic and more. 

Bonfires of old lack subtlety, 

conjure visions of blazes 

devouring paper, cardboard 

binding, image and idea, in 

towering conflagration danced 

around as if by witches of a lost, 

coven worshipping the wavering, 

flickering cinders on some  

unforgiven pitch-black midnight. 

Better they, with their 

arcane rituals and misguided 

devotion to the hot, flaring embers, 

than to stand next to the 

virtual fire upon which 

you throw the books you fear –  

giving off no heat nor flame, yet  

illuminating your thin dark soul  

in its cold revealing light.

 

 

 

I Wish I Was More Optimistic

 

I wish I was more optimistic, but 

maybe it’s not genetically possible. 

I would like to be more optimistic, but 

Old age is creeping in and all I see is the end. 

I would prefer to be more optimistic, but 

Maybe we’re just some earth-destroying virus. 

I could be more optimistic, but 

it’s probably just self-trickery. 

I want to be more optimistic, but 

there are too many history books. 

I could act all optimistic, but 

that would be totally fraudulent. 

I keep trying to be optimistic, but 

you’ve got to know better than that. 

It’s not time to throw in the towel yet, but 

I wish I was more optimistic.

J. B. Hogan is a poet, fiction writer, and local historian. He has been published in a number of journals including the Blue Lake Review, Crack the Spine, Copperfield Review, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Well Read Magazine, and Aphelion. His twelve books include Bar Harbor, Mexican Skies, Living Behind Time, Losing Cotton, The Apostate and, most recently, Forgotten Fayetteville and Washington County (local history). He lives in Fayetteville, Arkansas.