May 2017
Dick Allen
rallen285@earthlink.net
rallen285@earthlink.net
My two most recent books are Zen Master Poems (Wisdom / Simon & Schuster, 2016) and This Shadowy Place: Poems (St. Augustine’s Press, 2014). The latter received the New Criterion Poetry Award for books concentrating on traditional poetry forms. I was the Connecticut State Poet Laureate from 2010-2015. Now, my wife and I quietly write poetry by the shores of Thrushwood Lake, in Connecticut, and struggle daily to banish politics from our heads. Website and weekly blog: http://zenpoemszenphotosdickallen.net
In the Closed School, In the Occupied Country
“Suppose they gave a war and no one came,”
the poster in our empty classroom read,
“who would fight tyranny in freedom’s name?”
The lectern was abandoned. Each chair looked the same
as when we sat there, raised our hands, and said,
“Suppose they gave a war and no one came”
while others nodded. Perhaps one felt ashamed,
another outraged, another bowed his head,
who would fight tyranny in freedom’s name.
“If madmen stalk our cities, who’s to blame?
What innocent among you would forestall the dead?
Suppose they gave a war and no one came,”
the empty lectern whispered. “It’s no game
of liberty on platters, give us our daily bread.
You must fight tyranny in freedom’s name.”
The classroom snickered—nothing to acclaim,
not even shelter from those bombers overhead.
Unquenched, small evils set great worlds aflame.
They gave a war. We talked. And no one came.
-from This Shadowy Place: Poems (St. Augustine’s Press)
Gruel
“Please, sir, I want some more,”
said Oliver Twist.
“What!” said the master at length
in a faint voice.
“Please, sir, I want some more.”
So they hit his head with a ladle,
pinioned him under one arm,
shrieked aloud for the beadle,
the workhouse in total alarm.
Please, sir, I want some more.
The effrontery of it! The gall,
the presumption, the brazenness!
A whole system put to the test,
great uproar come over the hall.
Please, sir, I want some more.
All for a bowl of porridge,
some grout in a watery mix,
as Oliver, desperate with hunger,
made his advance.
Please, sir, I want some more.
And is it the gruel or the freedom
to ask for the gruel we most wish?
The thing, or what comes before it:
to choose to concur or resist?
Please, sir, I want some more?
You may parody it, you may smile.
“Don’t be Gruel,” you may sing like Elvis,
blow on it, make it cool,
for the poor, they are always with us,
Please, sir, I want some more.
But sooner or later, the rebel
with or without a raised fist
will rise from his place at the table,
to say, like Oliver Twist.
Please, sir, I want some more.
In the Closed School, In the Occupied Country
“Suppose they gave a war and no one came,”
the poster in our empty classroom read,
“who would fight tyranny in freedom’s name?”
The lectern was abandoned. Each chair looked the same
as when we sat there, raised our hands, and said,
“Suppose they gave a war and no one came”
while others nodded. Perhaps one felt ashamed,
another outraged, another bowed his head,
who would fight tyranny in freedom’s name.
“If madmen stalk our cities, who’s to blame?
What innocent among you would forestall the dead?
Suppose they gave a war and no one came,”
the empty lectern whispered. “It’s no game
of liberty on platters, give us our daily bread.
You must fight tyranny in freedom’s name.”
The classroom snickered—nothing to acclaim,
not even shelter from those bombers overhead.
Unquenched, small evils set great worlds aflame.
They gave a war. We talked. And no one came.
-from This Shadowy Place: Poems (St. Augustine’s Press)
Gruel
“Please, sir, I want some more,”
said Oliver Twist.
“What!” said the master at length
in a faint voice.
“Please, sir, I want some more.”
So they hit his head with a ladle,
pinioned him under one arm,
shrieked aloud for the beadle,
the workhouse in total alarm.
Please, sir, I want some more.
The effrontery of it! The gall,
the presumption, the brazenness!
A whole system put to the test,
great uproar come over the hall.
Please, sir, I want some more.
All for a bowl of porridge,
some grout in a watery mix,
as Oliver, desperate with hunger,
made his advance.
Please, sir, I want some more.
And is it the gruel or the freedom
to ask for the gruel we most wish?
The thing, or what comes before it:
to choose to concur or resist?
Please, sir, I want some more?
You may parody it, you may smile.
“Don’t be Gruel,” you may sing like Elvis,
blow on it, make it cool,
for the poor, they are always with us,
Please, sir, I want some more.
But sooner or later, the rebel
with or without a raised fist
will rise from his place at the table,
to say, like Oliver Twist.
Please, sir, I want some more.
©2017 Dick Allen
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