Pageviews past week

Saturday, December 31, 2011

MEDUSA'S KITCHEN has published two of my poems this morning, last day of 2011. I was surprised to find that "The Trees Learn Their Standing" a poem I wrote just before I went to sleep last night was published this morning in the Kitchen.
I was even more surprised to find that Taylor Graham and I, without every speaking to each other used a very similar image in our poems there this morning. The phrase was 'magic with the hands' Go to the kitchen and have a look.

You may enjoy this.


That the moon doesn't care for Spring.

That it doesn't fill itself out as an announcement

That a season is coming. It has its own games,

Water, the blood moving through mammals,

Huge hatches of insects making another music.

Still it shines brighter than all else in the night

Sky. It opens the earth itself in rain or clear

Light and gives names to the waking of the ground.

No matter where we go, if the night is open,

Clear and the course of this spinning planet

Is open and not just showing off the stars,

There she is, her royal majesty, directing everything

From the top of the night, not caring who or what

Sees her light, the llama races or mischief

In the eyes of old magicians somewhere in Mexico.

Slipping through the fog above the Great Lakes,

Holding court before the Northern Lights,

It is still the moon, careless and reclining

On the whole of our sky with us always loving it.

Thursday, December 29, 2011

PENTECOST chapbook pubished

Today I've posted two etchings by Dore, a photo of Mount Fuji looking as mysterious as it may and Raphael's lovely angel.
Green Panda Press in Cleveland, Ohio has just published a chapbook of my work called PENTECOST. They have only done 65 copies. At $5.00, that's less than a $1.00 per poem.
D.R. Wagner 'Pentecost'. 6 poems, 9 pages. cover art by Gustav Dore. stapled, stamped, no fold. 2011. 60 copies made. $5.00 (shipping free in U.S

how to pay, u wonder? paypal (to,
check/cash (to Green Panda Press 3174 Berkshire Rd., Cleve. Hts.,
OH 44118).

Here's the title poem"


The last of nothing drifts by.

All of space is now occupied.

We are now ready to receive

The Holy Spirit. It does not

Come as tongues of flame,

But occupies the cells of the body

Like crowded subway cars at night,

Full of dozing riders and people

Reading books as if their life depended on it.

We cross the tracks carefully.

We are unable to recognize anyone

We pass. Balloons of vision lift

From the clouds of people, rise up,

Are lost in a reaching of hands to grasp

The colorful strings dangling from them.

The gift of tongues is ours once more.

Touch our hand and you shall be healed.

No one believes this to be true. We buy food,

Giving away bars of chocolate and plastic

Wrapped sandwiches. Some shed tears,

Thanking us as we move forward.

Times like this will come again.

The seas lash the shores. Tornados

Sweep the kingdom. Fire consumes

All that is left. We suffer fools

With their predictions and admonitions.

This is indeed pentecost. We can not name it other.

Illuminated display boards at the exits flash

Our names and show grainy images of what

We are supposed to look like. We lose

Ourselves in the crowd, the buzz of understood

Conversations in every language of the world.