Tom Hibbard- Milwaukee, Wisconsin 2013

Michael…on Saturday, Sept. 28, I was working quite a bit on poems and attempting to read and take care of everything…late in the night, in truth, somewhat slightly after midnight Central Time in sympathy with all the great sensitive poets spread everywhere across the planet, probably many in the Middle East and Afghanistan especially, after prepping just a bit by reading some of Jack Kerouac’s letters from 1952 to his great friend and fellow writer John Clellon Holmes, I brought my cat named “Kitty” into my room and improvised some poems for him, though characteristically he was shy about being privy as part of my writing…and my newly harvested pie pumpkins in the cellar also heard my doleful hopeful words from the heart…and several ghosts that share the room keep me modest company also especially now that the government is shut down and no one knows what will take place regarding anything or if anything matters or what does and what doesn’t matter…so I am honoring this rare fine opportunity of a Day of Poetry for which I am thankful by sending you a poem (below) from my new collection and a photo of my pumpkins…happy poets’ day, viva poetry in the uncompromising Age of Silence…Tom Hibbard

in back of all-night diners
watching midwestern rivers
in darkened greyhound busses
going from philadelphia to cleveland
our spare belongings
scattered across the land
watching agendas of nihilism
declare war on themselves
beginning their tasks of destruction
animosity feeds only its own
as the cold winds blow
are lies all we have
heard sporadically above
a universe of sunlight and rain
that blooms with the definitive fruit of neutrinos
leisure is the only thing you criticize
curious astronauts
driving small cars
splash on the anonymous blacktop
taking all problems for yourself
cut-off from communication

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