Tuesday, April 07, 2009


The PAD prompt for today was to write about something "clean" or something "dirty." Well, they asked for it.

I had to do this poem quickly between classes. It was sparked by a conversation we had recently in my contemporary poetry class about sex in poems and an e-mail received in my inbox today about a rape that happened on campus on April 5:

We shouldn't speak of sex in poems
because sex is dirty
the proper place, as we all know,
is in a nudie magazine
that must be hidden from children

We shouldn't speak of sex in poems
the proper place, as we all know, is
in an e-mail from the campus cops
saying a student was sexually assaulted
by someone she knew and saying we
must be wary of those who may be friends
of others but not known to us
God help us all
Please God save us from dirty sex
Please God save us from dirty poems

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Northwest Ohio, United States
"I was no better than dust, yet you cannot replace me. . . Take the soft dust in your hand--does it stir: does it sing? Has it lips and a heart? Does it open its eyes to the sun? Does it run, does it dream, does it burn with a secret, or tremble In terror of death? Or ache with tremendous decisions?. . ." --Conrad Aiken


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The Secret of Hurricanes : That article in the Waterville Scout said it was Shake- spearean, all that fatalism that guides the Kennedys' lives. The likelihood of untimely death. Recently, another one died in his prime, John-John in an airplane. Not long before that, Bobby's boy. While playing football at high speeds on snow skis. Those Kennedys take some crazy chances. I prefer my own easy ways. Which isn't to say my life hasn't been Shake-spearean. By the time I was sixteen, my life was like the darkened stage at the end of Hamlet or Macbeth. All littered with corpses and treachery.

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