Enter Home Planet News Poetry of Issue #6                        Page 5
Table of

The Death of Poetry

Back when poetry
slammed across the shores
like a hurricane
sending words spinning
in wind and waves;

back before
the waves wreaked havoc
on land,
when rain was a roof
to hide beneath;

when temperatures climbed,
but didn’t soar
and sizzle;

back when
was food
to be shared
among countries,
and only birds tweeted;

the time
before his tornado
ripped homes away
in Houston
Puerto Rico,

you know
that time
people listened-
a rapt audience-
to poetry,

and language mattered
even “but”
because there are no buts
about health

empty verse
limp across the stage
it collapses.

  Pam Laskin __

Outer Space

You can pretend
hope is forever
living here
there is a place for you,
until 2017
when the new president
stabs at the planet’s heart,
saying I am the constellation,
and also the sun and moon,
if you do not believe me
feel free
to leave
this orbit.

  Pam Laskin__

Being Black in the Age of Trump

I have no Black child,
so how do I know what it means
to send this son
out to buy milk
at the corner grocery,
knowing the police
may beg him to breathe
into a breathalyzer
(even worse),

and my boy,
balanced as he is,
may refuse.

Then what?

  Pam Laskin__
Empty Sky

I know loose tongues
and roller-coasters,
I grew up
in an amusement park
of putrid smells
where I collected debris
in the image of myself
in the mirror,
which is why
when he tweets out a rant
about making America great,
I understand
the tattoo of fear
etched in the hearts
of the Black, the Syrian, the reporter
who says:
“the emperor is wearing no clothes;”
watching the man
in the baseball hat
who tilts his face, defiant,
toward an empty sky.

  Pam Laskin__

©C.T.v.M. : Mr.Visserplein
Fairy Land

You dreamed a castle
a kingdom made of gold,
a queen, a princess,
several princes
singing their song,

and-like magic-
you summoned an America
in a distant land
far from the forest
anyone knew,

people bow down to you,
they imagine
your tale is true,
they think
as you tear down
every guidepost on the road,
that you, on your bombastic throne,
will offer them sweets
will give them trinkets
will provide shelter
from the dangerous tornado
blowing wildly in random directions.

  Pam Laskin__