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Too long away

Will anyone read this? I wouldn’t blame you, or be angry, if not. But I’m attempting to get back into the game. So here goes: a few poems written in the past months

“A Secret”

The one reason I never gave.
My hopeful mind closed by reproach.
Sometimes I think
it was your willingness
to forgive anything
that lead me to never tell you.

“First Lap Dance”

There are no words
for knowing a person
however intimately

I loved once
like hell
burning for another
body, bloody and chock
full of human

but a dancer
like the seraphim
gives you none
she does and doesn’t
know you’re scared
she does things
you’ll never remember
she whispers “thanks honey”
you slip the five
where it goes

to those who ask
I say it felt dirty
but it wasn’t
I don’t think much
about her,
nor she me
I imagine


What May Brings

It brings The National, my favorite band at present, and their new full-length album named “High Violet”. Check out this song – from the upcoming release – that they performed on Jimmy Fallon Live a month or so ago:

The National embody a sense of class and nostalgia that I identify with….probably more so than any other band I’ve the privilege of listening to. That, and the vocalist Beringer has a knack for truly poetic lyrics (something I think is a bit lacking in many artists). Anyways, hopefully ya’ll enjoy this song now. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve listened to it



So, I’ve decided that I am going to change the agenda of this blog. At least, I’m going to try it out and see what comes of it. Anyways, the focus of Olly-olly-oxen-free, from this point on, will be for “scholarly work” (whatever that means), instead of creative. Thusly, you’ll be seeing more poems of other, far more prestigious and talented poets, and hopefully I’ll be able to dissect the poems in a way that is comprehensible and entertaining. This will be great practice for school, and maybe even better practice for my own poems. Anyways, you might or might not be seeing some of my own writing on here – that decision is not final. But, you’ll certainly be seeing more critiques. Look for C.K. William’s poem “Loss” as my first critique within the week.

‘Til then, drink water and be kind – Zach


Deep Archaic

Like allergies, an unknown pollen floating unseen.
Despair, an undefined (and unwarranted) abyssmal feeling
of undeserved disparity. It worries me so greatly
because I don’t know why – makes it feel deep archaic.
Undefined, it must be beyond nomenclature,
beyond that age-old escapism of cataloguing.

I used to believe that. Now I just think I don’t believe.
Either way I’ve slept soundly.
But I’ve come to control these esoterics
by two activities: writing and God.
One lends itself to subjective self-explanation (this).
The other doesn’t deserve that kind of logic


a couple poems, old and new


Little girl dancing
In the flowerbed
Thank you
For being my philosophy

After long days
Of learning
Feminist Composition Literature
You gave me

Little girl dancing
In flower beds
Thank you Thank You
For good philosophy


This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

-T.S. Eliot, The Hollow Men

That I keep in a box under my bed. They are
old hirsute dogs that sneak into the woods
Or crawl under the porch
to die alone.
That scares me so much, I no longer allow
Myself to think of such things.

I will show you fear in a handful
of dust
. Ice dust. Shavings from gliding
ice skates. That’s how I’ve lost it all. Spinning doily designs
in the solid water. Always reflecting You, but murky. You can
jot then rewrite your reasons for wasting time.
They too are transcribed in those handfuls.

What agnostics have wrong – there is every evidence for
G-d in moments we can never recall.


New World

We are a military family
For your service.
I am a military brother
Militant in brotherhood.
And now that you
Too have emancipated yourself
The union is lesser.

The motherland
And fatherland
Watch their satellites
Turn sovereign.
And the world
As we knew it
Is changing


The Elevator

Why are we all so scared of one another?

The Elevator

As we step on
She hits my button
Then starts jabbing the one
That keeps us pent together.
Then, doesn’t acknowledge me at all
Just stares into the callboard,
Waxes her lips, pockets the chapstick
Staring even harder at the buttons.
She never sees me, refusing to – I. don’t. exist, here.
Until we reach G* and tilts her head
Obtusely like saying: “You walk out first
so I can see who I shared this intimacy with”
and I reply by darting out the doors, like “Why
are people so damn scared of one another?”

Its easier – I have to believe its sympathy,
Even self-sympathy. We’re all just so frightened.

Forget the coffee I’ve come for
And Proust left on tenth floor.
Hurdle out western doors,
Into unconditional rain.

The reason for all this is not reasonable. The reason, strictly art, Still makes no sense to me.

The Wheel

May 2019
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