Article 25

Archive for January, 2013|Monthly archive page


In Uncategorized on 01/20/2013 at 4:04 pm


Choices Made at a Tender Age

By Spencer Ledyard

“My parents said why don’t you take a few classes at the community college. … Ten years later I said to myself, ‘Well, that was a pretty slippery slope'” – Music Dave

6 years ago I enlisted
And I’ve been slipping ever since.
My mind and, yes, my body.
At what I lost I wince.

In pictures I am thinner;
I smile with my eyes,
But now my fat face
Is a menagerie of lies.

So in silly, dark, poetic
Words to Grimm for truth
I write, a bit unoriginal,
A diary blurb, forsooth.

My momentous mental journey,
My fantasy Sword of Light,
Is a painful little pimple,
A PTSD blight.

And even here I irritate
And feel shame about me,
For what I lost, what
I lost, what I lost, what was it?


Quod Lingua Loqueris?

By Spencer Ledyard

The work is tiring.
It hangs from our pelvic bones
Like holey, thinning, grayed out underwear.

But the fortunes grow
And filly Desdemona and surly popgun Pan
Concoct a miserly misery.

The poor feel the pirates chop at their guts;
Then all manhood is a posture
Struck for its concordance
To all manhood well met.

The common rich and the uncommon poor.

 The blind have no body language.

 Of course, the rich don’t comprehend the poor;
The poor don’t grasp the rich –
Or find farthings in their meat pies, or wear linen,
Or go beyond their country but to fight,
Or fight for their interests, or have the luxury
Of disbelief, or have feelings,
Or truly breathe a breath –
The rich eat all the air and snort up the beliefs
And the rich have all the feelings in their chest pockets
And own the lands and linens and farthings
And grasp the poor with a choke collar
And this the poor comprehend.


The One

By Spencer Ledyard

It is noon. No sun and one firm black cloud.
There is rain. No drops. In their place are sheets;
It is wet. On the roof and walls it is loud.
Repetitive monosyllabic beats.

We have seats. A box. Drinks. A board for chess.
No lights. The house is dark, bar for one dip.
There is no place to go; no need to dress.
This monochromatic abandoned ship.

So you sip. Lift, hold, and set down a pawn
One square more, then you take it back and brood.
In here, it feels like fall, and looks like dawn
Murmuring monomaniacal mood.

You are nude. We are in love in one storm.
Inside, we are monogamous and warm.