Sample Poems: Volume 25, Numbers 1 and 2

IRISH HISTORY EXPLAINED IN 16 LINES
(or Did You Ever Wonder Why So Many of the Great Writers Are Irish?)

By Jack McCarthy


As anyone who’s considered being God

will know, at Pentecost the gift was not
of tongues, but ears.

                              Their lovely bloody language

was the weapon did us in. The sound
of it, the treasures of its lexicon,
the endless ways of telling what to do,
what god to worship, and what arse to kiss.
They pronounced death sentences; listening,
we heard troubadours. They dictated terms
of our subjection; faerysong to us.

It wasn’t us that they betrayed, but English.

They didn’t live up to it, they were not grand
enough, magnanimous, and now it’s ours.
By fierce, barbaric love—because we let
it charm us and seduce us, we own it now
in ways they never did, and never will.



"PO PROBLEMA"

By Fred Yannantuono


After the din of the day

All of the postmen are braying.
Jesus, just lay me away.
How long do they plan on staying?

All of the postmen are braying,

Shouting out postmodern jokes.
How long do they plan on staying,
Braying and lighting up smokes?

Pounding out postmodern jokes

Crammed with Neanderthal diction,
Braying and lighting up smokes—
God how I wish this were fiction!

Damn their Neanderthal diction—

They’re the guys bring me my letters.
God how I wish this were fiction!
I’d make them all Irish setters.

They’re the guys bring me my letters,

Curly and Larry and Moe.
I’d make them all Irish setters
Silent, observant, and slow.

Curly and Larry and Moe,

Jesus, just lay me away.
Silent, observant, and slow
After the din of the day.