a poetry e-zine










Poems By David Thornbrugh
American Poets in Their Prime

Lawrence Ferlinghetti wants to sell me some underwear
Wallace Stevens pulls fourteen blackbirds up the golden nib of a pen
Emily Dickinson delivers milk fresh daily in bottles of moonlight
Walt Whitman sells bear hug shampoo on his Web site
Ezra Pound cooks fascist pasta in the wire cage of Pisan pigeons
Kenneth Patchen welds irony to anger with a torch of pure moonlight
Diane Wakoski paints her face on every mirror of the Hall of Versailles
Allen Ginsberg croons social justice into the taut bulb of a young
William Carlos Williams fills one red wheelbarrow with fresh babies wet
plain words
Edgar Allen Poe pounds the prophetic piano of his teenage bride
T.S. Eliot bounces bad checks off London bank counters
Edna St. Vincent Millay merges pharmaceutical veins into purple drapes
Langston Hughes swims a river of locomotive smoke in search of a looser
Gertrude Stein leaves Oakland back there in the not there wherefore and
Anne Sexton smokes a filter-tip oar on a therapy couch wet with love

David Thornbrugh currently writes from South Korea, where he teaches English in a National University. He writes to push back the darkness a little bit at a time, in the same flighty manner as lightning bugs. He has been published in numerous small press journals, and once wrote the questions for a geography textbook. He prefers multiple choice questions to True/False.


Copyright 2007  Chantarelle's Notebook