Poem For My Unborn Thomas #40

It is not a stone

unfastened from the cliff.

It is the cliff, arrived.




Poem For My Unborn Thomas #41


Thomas, allow me to speak winter to you.

It is a process for the kings of salt,

those that have the most salt to lose

& mended to return are given the bend

to drink a chemical winter, because this

is Ohio, this is across from all prisons

of good season. This land is a picture of want

& we will poison the nation to heat

the boats of survival. Cut the taste, son,

your face will freeze like that, if you don’t

stop barking against the winds, the love

of the wind, pushing all change to die

here in Ohio. This winter, first winter

for you, we could skate freely without harm,

we could drown amidst the proper fools

with prepared grievances for the gods

of simple lands. Immigrate to the light.

Immigrate to the possibility of scenery.

The hills will hold you steady, pressed deep

into the curve, the rebound of man, waiting.



Poem For My Unborn Thomas #42


That big fear, inhabiting you already,

is of dreadful beauty, of seeing glory

independent of the watchers. Tiny explosion,


all meaning comes from action, repeated

for no other reason than creation

& the passing of time. Bet on redemption


before you bet on heat. Be destined

to explore the boundaries of failure.

Dip your toe, lose your foot, dance


defiantly against your surroundings.

Hug your father with sincere force.

Judge me harshly. Find your own god.


Name your god something un-

pronounceable. Be almost free of hate.

Share the foundry of your love with no one.


  three poems from Darren C. Demaree

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