Poems the Old Man Can Relate to—National Poetry Month 2026

 

These two poems are personal.  Sort of.  They were not written to or about me and the poets presumably are totally unaware of my existence on the planet.  But each provided an ah-ha moment of personal recognition for me as someone of advancing age in increasing decrepitude.

Sydney Lea.

Sydney Lea is a poet, novelist, essayist, editor, and professor, and was the Poet Laureate of Vermont from 2011 to ‘15.  His most recent book is The Exquisite Triumph of Wormboy, a graphic mock-epic poem in collaboration with former Vermont Cartoonist Laureate James Kochalka—how utterly Vermont to have a Cartoonist Laureate.   His thirteenth collection of poetry, Here was published 2019.  He founded New England Review in 1977 and edited it till 1989. His work has appeared in literary journals and magazines including The New Yorker, The Atlantic, The New Republic, The New York Times, Sports Illustrated, and Virginia Quarterly Review.  Lea has taught for the Master of Arts in Liberal Studies program at Dartmouth College, and at Yale University, Wesleyan University, Vermont College, Middlebury College, Franklin University Switzerland, and the National Hungarian University.

A cabin and the Montana night sky.

Reckoning struck me first because it opens in the state of my birth under the vast starry sky of the West that was such a part of my childhood and then because it shifts to the lights of a big city—Gotham for him, the Windy City for me.  I have no son, but daughters, I hear their long-ago voices—the bored indifference to those same Montana mountains and eagerness to find a mall—any mall—in the small towns among the pine smells.  The children of those two eldest daughters are grown now and one has a laughing daughter of his own.  My third and youngest lives with us now with her nearly six-year-old daughter.  As a toddler, I wonder if Matilda would walk by the hand with me to find the elf door in a rotting tree in a remnant wood or a flop-eared rabbit in a cage.  I, too, feel some sort of transgenerational connection.

Reckoning

Let us not take it for granted that life exists more fully in what is commonly thought big than in what is commonly thought small.

         —Virginia Woolf, The Common Reader

 

Once, on the steps of a cabin in wild Montana,

just before dawn I stood stunned

by that delirium of stars.

I’ve looked from a friend’s apartment in New York

at nine o’clock in the evening,

likewise astounded by countless windows.

Light everywhere. Light everywhere. And dark.

 

Coleridge opined that the sublime

can make us feel like nothing.

I’m sure I’d have known as much without him.

The older I become the less I aim

at epic self-expression.

It’s best, I think, as I didn’t always,

to keep my counsel in face of sights and themes

 

that lie beyond my ken, right where they’ve lain

lifelong, though once ambition

obscured all that. But I check myself:

I’m no more nothing, in fact, than anybody.

My memory feels boundless,

and if it fetches no sublime,

still moments may be fashioned into stories.

 

As randomly as I might choose a star

or a single light from some high-rise,

I summon a time—or it summons me—

when I and my son, then just three years old,

walked through a patch of woods

to spy on a hidden beaver pond.

I longed for this adventure to unfold

 

exactly as it did. The wind came right,

and just enough of day

remained for both of us to see

three beavers swimming, a mere five feet from where

we crouched in pond-side reeds.

Clear as judgment in my mind,

the rasp of roost-bound crows, thick August air,

 

that tannic orange of the cruising rodents’ teeth.

My son appeared transported

as we left the place by early starlight.

“How was it?” asked his mother back at home.

“Oh, Mom! You should have seen!

There were some bugs in the water! They all were swimming!

All of them were swimming around and around!”

 

In my twenties then, I didn’t know

how not to feel let down.

I know some things today, that is,

that compensate for slackened aspiration.

That child is forty-seven,

his children much older than he was then.

I study my boy. I’m lost in speculation:

 

I resembled him, I hope, in intending kindness.

In my case, though, vague zeal

distracted my heart and mind and soul.

He’s taking his daughter to ski this afternoon.

They’ll command an epic view,

yet it may be only the shape of a mogul

or cloud that, come the evening, she’ll retain.

 

And my son? He has perhaps already traveled

like me to where all types of light are local.

 

— Sydney Lea

                        Camisha L. Jones.

The next poem was shared a few years ago on Facebook by my best friend from high school, Jonathan Ben Gordon, now a retired Cantor. 

Camisha L. Jones is the author of the chapbook Flare published by Finishing Line Press in 2017. She received of a 2017 Spoken Word Immersion Fellowship from the Loft Literary Center.  She currently serves as the managing director at Split This Rock, a national nonprofit that cultivates, teaches, and celebrates poetry that bears witness to injustice and provokes social change.  According to the Deaf Poets Society blog Jones “lives with fibromyalgia, Ménière's Disease, and an adamant commitment to keep her writing life from scorching on the back burner.”  She lives in Herndon, Virginia.

"Sorry, I can't hear you."

At first glance it would seem that I would not have much in common with a young deaf Black poet.  Certainly, I am not deaf but I am hard of hearing due to prolonged exposure to industrial noise and ear-bleeding rock and roll as a young man.  Before I finally got hearing aids I had plenty of those I’m-sorry-I-can’t-hear-you moments, especially when I clerked overnight at a gas station/convenience store  to exasperated customers whose lottery and cigarette requests I could not quite make out.  Equally annoyed was my wife who got tired of repeating herself over and over.  Things are mostly better now if I “have my ears in.”  But why the hell do they whisper on all of my favorite TV dramas?  And last week I must have said “huh?” a dozen times to my still exasperated wife.  And don’t get me started on garbled phone calls. 

Disclosure

I’m sorry, could you repeat that. I’m hard of hearing.

To the cashier

To the receptionist

To the insistent man asking directions on the street

I’m sorry, I’m hard of hearing. Could you repeat that?

At the business meeting

In the writing workshop

On the phone to make a doctor’s appointment

I’m-sorry-I’m-sorry-I’m-so-sorry-I’m-hard-for-the-hearing

Repeat.

           Repeat.

Hello, my name is Sorry

To full rooms of strangers

I’m hard to hear

I vomit apologies everywhere

They fly on bat wings

towards whatever sound beckons

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry

           and repeating

                       and not hearing

Dear (again)

I regret to inform you

I       am

here

 

—Camisha L. Jones

 

A Timeless Parable by Thomas Lux--National Poetry Month 2026

 

Thomas Lux speaking at Poets House’s 17th Annual Poetry Walk Across The Brooklyn Bridge on June 11, 2012 in Brooklyn, New York.

Thomas Lux’s parable, The People of the Other Village, about tribalism, suspicion, paranoia, reciprocal violence, and dehumanization particularly speaks to us today.  Tit-for-tat attacks have escalated to genocidal levels and guaranteed generational revenge or preemptive strikes against any imagined threat.  Cases in point Israeli/Palestinian mutual savagery, the Russian war on Ukraine, War on Iran, and to varying degrees dozens of other simmering conflicts across the globe.

Lux was born in Northampton, Massachusetts, on December 10, 1946, and attended Emerson College and the University of Iowa.

His books of poetry are To the Left of Time (Mariner Books, 2016); Child Made of Sand (Houghton Mifflin, 2012); God Particles (Houghton Mifflin, 2008); The Cradle Place (Houghton Mifflin, 2004); The Street of Clocks (Houghton Mifflin, 2001); New and Selected Poems, 1975–1995 (Houghton Mifflin, 1997), which was a finalist for the 1998 Lenore Marshall Poetry Prize; Split Horizon (Houghton Mifflin, 1994), for which he received the Kingsley Tufts Poetry Award; Tarantulas on the Lifebuoy (Ampersand Books, 1983); The Glassblower’s Breath (Cleveland State University Press, 1976); Memory’s Handgrenade (Pym-Randall, 1972); and The Land Sighted (Pym-Randall, 1970).

Over the course of his career, Lux moved from angsty, introspective surrealism to plain spoken pieces rooted in the real world with humor and irony—a social critic without seeming preachy.

The late Stanley Kunitz noted that “[Lux is] sui generis, his own kind of poet, unlike any of the fashions of his time.” Rita Dove, writing for the Washington Post Book World, has said, “Try Lux on for size. He’ll pinch in places, soothe in others, but I predict one thing: you may never fit the same way in your own skin again.”

Lux died in Atlanta, Georgia on February 5, 2017.

 

The People of the Other Village

hate the people of this village

and would nail our hats

to our heads for refusing in their presence to remove them

or staple our hands to our foreheads

for refusing to salute them

if we did not hurt them first: mail them packages of rats,

mix their flour at night with broken glass.

We do this, they do that.

They peel the larynx from one of our brothers’ throats.

We devein one of their sisters.

The quicksand pits they built were good.

Our amputation teams were better.

We trained some birds to steal their wheat.

They sent to us exploding ambassadors of peace.

They do this, we do that.

We canceled our sheep imports.

They no longer bought our blankets.

We mocked their greatest poet

and when that had no effect

we parodied the way they dance

which did cause pain, so they, in turn, said our God

was leprous, hairless.

We do this, they do that.

Ten thousand (10,000) years, ten thousand

(10,000) brutal, beautiful years.

 

—Thomas Lux

 

The People of the Other Village from New and Selected Poems: 1975-1995. Copyright © 1997 by Thomas Lux.

 

Poet of the Harlem Renaissance Countee Cullen—National Poetry Month 2026

 

Harlem Renaissance poet Countee Cullen. 

Countee Cullen, leading light of the Harlem Renaissance was orphaned at 16 and was adopted into the home of Harlem’s most important clergyman, the Reverend Frederick A. Cullen, of Salem Methodist Episcopal Church.  He took the name of his foster father and enjoyed being at the epicenter of Harlem life.  He was sent to prestigious White schools where he excelled as a scholar and was quickly recognized as a poet. 

In 1923 he graduated from New York University and was accepted to graduate school at Harvard.  He had already published several poems in important magazines and was lauded by White critics as a voice for his race.  That year he published The Ballad of a Black Girl, the first important collection of what would become known as the Harlem Renaissance.  It was widely hailed in his own community as well as praised by the literary establishment.  Cullen secured his place in Harlem when he married, to public jubilation, W.E.B. Du Bois’s daughter, uniting the two most influential families in the community. 

Cullen believed that no authentic Black poetic voice had ever been able to establish itself.  He consciously modeled his work on the English Romantics of a hundred years earlier, especially John Keats.  He rejected modernism and literary trends like imagism and free verse.  When his subsequent collections drifted away from the depiction of Black life, he fell out of favor with Black readers who preferred the later blues and jazz infused modernism of Langston Hughes and others.  He ended his long career co-writing plays, including the musical St. Louis Woman which made Pearl Bailey a star when it finally premiered on Broadway in 1947, months after Cullen’s death.

Karenge ya Marenge reflected the radicalism and global views of his father-in-law.

Karenge ya Marenge

Wherein are words sublime or noble?

What Invests one speech with haloed

eminence, Makes it the sesame for all doors

shut, Yet in its like sees but impertinence?

Is it the hue? Is it the cast of eye, The curve of lip or Asiatic breath, Which mark a lesser place for Gandhi’s cry Than “Give me liberty or give me

death!”

Is Indian speech so quaint, so weak, so rude,

So like its land enslaved, denied, and crude, That men who claim they fight for liberty Can hear this battle-shout impassively, Yet to their arms with high resolve have sprung At those same words cried in the English tongue?

 

—Countee  Cullen

Countee Cullen, Karenge ya Marenge from My Soul’s High Song: The Collected Writings of Countee Cullen.

 

Walking the Walk and Compassion for Campers Update for April 10 2026

 

Look for new opportunities for action, education, community, and solidarity in and around McHenry County here every week.  

Walking the Walk  

War with Iran.  It's been a head snapping week.  First, we seemed to be waltzing up to Armageddon or maybe a mutiny by segments of the Armed Forces with Donald Trump's vow to "obliterate a civilization" with destruction of Iran's entire electrical power supplies and grid as well as bridges and other critical civilian infrastructure.  Ousted Top Brass and even previously loyal MAGA politicos reminded active-duty military of their duty to refuse to obey illegal orders.  Feverish calls to invoke the 25th Amendment to the Constitution and remove the Resident for being incapable of "discharging he power and duties of his office" spread like wildfire online.  Protests were held across the country including at the Great Lakes Naval Station and Downtown Chicago at the Federal Plaza.  More actions were planned.

Then at the last-minute Trump flipped the table.  He announced that he accepted a Ten Point ceasefire proposal that Iran offered two days earlier.  He declared he would honor a two week cease fire if Iran opened the Straits of Hormz.  They responded that the straights would be open to commercial passage under the protection of the Iranian Navy.  It looked like a virtual capitulation to get him out of the deeply unpopular war before it derailed his Presidency.  It is also unclear if Isreal was even given notice of the ceasefire or would abide by it.  They bombed populated Hezbola targets in Lebanon hours after it went into effect. 

Will Isreal literally blow up the deal?  Will Trump reverse course once again?  Who knows.  Stay alert and nimble to respond to any eventuality.

 Contact your Senators and House Representatives:

Urgent Congressional Action Memorandum
Template for email attachment to U.S. Senators and Members of the House of Representatives

Date:
April 7, 2026
To:
[Senator / Representative Name]
From:
[Your Name / Organization / City, State]
Subject:
Request for Immediate Congressional Intervention if Credible Evidence Confirms Unauthorized Attacks on Civilians or Civilian Infrastructure
Purpose:
To urge immediate use of Congress's constitutional powers to stop any unlawful escalation, protect American citizens from unauthorized war, and uphold basic principles of humanity and the rule of law.

I write to urge immediate Congressional action if credible evidence shows that the President has ordered or expanded large-scale attacks on Iranian civilian populations or civilian infrastructure without lawful congressional authorization. If such facts are confirmed, Congress should treat the matter not as routine foreign policy, but as an emergency involving unauthorized war, grave humanitarian harm, and a direct assault on the constitutional balance of powers.
Core concern: Congress must not allow any President to carry out or continue a campaign that deliberately or recklessly endangers civilians, bypasses Congress's war powers, and exposes the American people to wider conflict without lawful approval.

The quickest lawful path for Congress to intervene
1. Emergency hearings within hours. Convene immediate classified and public hearings and compel testimony from Defense, State, intelligence, and Justice Department officials. Demand the legal basis, targeting rationale, civilian harm assessments, War Powers reporting, and any internal memoranda relied upon for the operation.
2. Immediate funding restrictions. Pass emergency appropriations language or a stand-alone funding prohibition barring any further offensive operations, strategic bombing, or infrastructure attacks absent specific congressional authorization. Congress's control of funding is the strongest near-term institutional brake.
3. War powers legislation to terminate unauthorized hostilities. Pass a joint resolution or bill directing termination of unauthorized hostilities and requiring withdrawal from any offensive campaign not expressly authorized by Congress. This establishes a clear constitutional line and creates a direct record of congressional opposition.
4. Impeachment proceedings if defiance continues. If the President persists after congressional notice, or if credible evidence demonstrates deliberate attacks on civilians or other grave abuses, the House should open impeachment proceedings immediately and the Senate should prepare to act on an emergency timetable.
Why immediate action is necessary
• Delay increases the risk of broader regional war, retaliation against U.S. personnel, and lasting damage to American credibility.
• If civilian infrastructure is being targeted on a sustained, nationwide basis, the humanitarian consequences could be severe and irreversible.
• Congress cannot preserve its constitutional role by issuing statements alone. It must use hearings, legislation, funding control, and—if necessary—impeachment.
Requested commitment
I respectfully ask that you publicly commit to the following: support emergency hearings, support an immediate cutoff of funds for any unauthorized offensive campaign, support war powers legislation to end unlawful hostilities, and support impeachment proceedings if the President continues in defiance of Congress or if credible evidence confirms grave abuses against civilians.
Closing
American citizens should not be dragged into unauthorized war, and basic principles of humanity must not depend on delay or political caution. If the facts support these concerns, Congress should act now with the full weight of its constitutional authority.
Respectfully,

[Your Name]
[Organization, if any]
[City, State]
[Email]
[Phone]

Compassion for Campers

Compassion for Campers is at Community Resource Days at Willow Crystal Lake, 100 South Main Street on the first and third Friday of every month from 10 am to 2 pm. C4C is one of over 25 agencies at Willow.  C4C’s next distribution will be  Friday, April 17 and then on Friday, May 1.. Please come and see what we are doing.  

Yo-yo conditions and mud are the reality for those camping or sleeping in vehicles and catch-as-catch can spaces  Demand is very high for basic camping supplies and despite our best efforts cannot meet everyone’s needs.  Individual and community donations are critical to purchase our gear.   

We can always use donations of supplies like clean and serviceable tents and sleeping bags in original bags for easy transport, clean blankets, tabletop grills, wrapped toilet paper and paper towels, and non-perishable food.  Money donations are always welcome.      https://tinyurl.com/3bz96axe

We need people to share leadership tasks including shopping, transportation, acknowledging donations, coordinating with other agencies, and religious groups. These tasks can take a few hours a week.  People with flexible schedules with some day-time availability are ideal candidates.  A good way to start is to volunteer for our distribution a time or two to see if we are a good fit and stir your passion for justice and service.  Interested?  Email compassionforcampers@treeoflifeuu.org