April, according to this poet, is the cruelest month.
April, according to these lovers of poetry, is National Poetry Month, and the only cruelty is metaphorical (which isn’t to say T.S. Eliot was being literal except, well…)
In honor of this month, and since I don’t post on my blog as much these days, I’ll (re)share some of my published poetry. And that begs the question, if a poem falls in the Internet and no one reads it, is it still poetry?
Of course it is.
Poem #7: Joey Kocur’s Fist (gratitude for Sport Literate for publishing this one in 2016).
Joey Kocur’s Fist
Imagine a piano pounded to the point
where its ivory bones are chipped.
The black keys leaking blood
and exhausted from overuse.
Every note a raw rejoinder
perfected by pain and practice.
Each improvisation a stoic shriek
for the sake of the song.
More thoughts about hockey, and the controversial role of fighting in the sport, here.
