Political poems are by definition clunkers. They feel heavy and weigh in awkward. Here is one of mine that started its life as bit of prose that I knew had to end up being a poem:   Clunker #1   We have lost, more birds, to suicide on our front porch window glass this year…

Poem #1 One image that keeps rising in my poetic life, an inspiration, is the porch swing at home. It is the big fat koi in the pond of my imagination. I continue to roll over the image in my poetry. That is part of what a poetic life is, a recursion into the glub-glub-glub-speak…