(Today we are pleased to run a collection of five poems by our friend David Henson. We have decided to depart from the one poem a day format, but instead of just shoving them out all together we have included images and the end result is quite nice. but always, it is the words that rule the day.–The Ed’s.)

Death Everlasting

A man rubs ointment 

on the stub

of a new arm he’s growing. 

A woman dons her levitation cloak

and goes for a ride.

Massive seawalls

gird coastal cities.

Robots do the dirty work.

Human brains braid with AI

and each other.

People live for centuries,

a boat I miss. 

Polar bears prowl 

the tropics after ice 

reclaims the earth.

The planet regreens.

The continents touch. 

A boy and girl cartwheel 

on thick grass

outside their home on Europa. 

Their descendants, 

part human, beast, mechanical,

will live on ships 

that sail deep space.

The sun burns red,

obliterates its kingdom,

my atoms chasing space and time.

The universe turns cold

or crunch.

So many things that will be,

and my death will survive them all.

(end)

The Man Who Quit Trying To Understand

My new approach 

begins during a movie

when I ask myself

Why did the guy with the beard do that? 

Who is the guy with the beard? 

I find the film more enjoyable 

when I accept

there’s a guy with a beard,

and he did what he did. 

My mindset expands

to everything and everyone. 

What do they think they’re doing?

Don’t care.

How could anyone believe that?

Who knows.

Are these people for real? 

Apparently. 

Friends caution me 

ignorance is no way 

to go through life.

Without my asking why,

they give me reasons.

I nod.

(end)

Jack’s Song

This here’s a little ditty

‘bout Jack, a fellow with wings.

Adriane has none,

but does have a big ol’ gun.

She tries to rob the bank

where Jack works nine to five.

When he pushes the hidden button,

cops swarm like bees at a hive.

Adriane’s trapped 

and makes a hostage of Jack.

The standoff goes days,

puts Jack in a Stockholm haze.

He visits his new dearest 

in her prison for the unwinged,

leaves his wife, sweet Betty Lou—

a flyer, born like Jack.

His feathers itch like crazy

when apart from Adriane,

who one day admits

she’s fallen for a woman named Pam.

Jack hatches a plan,

and gets his wings removed,

shoots a guy and gets locked up

with his darling Adriane.

Jack woos Adriane away 

from that hated Pam

and plans a fairy tale life

with Adriane in the slam.

But Pam goes all If I can’t have her,

no one else can

and shivs poor Adriane in the shower

where she bleeds out down the drain.

Oh yeah, Jack’s shattered,

but life goes on,

and he starts regretting 

his leaving sweet Betty Lou.

Jack knows she’ll shun a man 

bound to ground like him 

so he tells the warden he wants 

to be winged again.

The warden says Jack, make Big Shirley 

confess the murder we could never pin,

and we’ll sew some wings 

back on you again.

Well, Jack charms himself

into Big Shirley’s arms,

and when she says Don’t stop, 

he does—until she says I did.

Jack’s re-winged and transferred

to a flyer’s cage,

writes Betty Lou: Please visit.

We’ll flutter as best we can.

But Betty Lou is soaring

with another fellow by then.

Oh yeah, life goes on

So Jack spends the rest of his

flying alone

in a pen.

(end)

Splinters

Dreams splintered 

in my father’s hand.

Those just under

the calluses.

he needled to the surface,

drew between his teeth,

spat out. 

Those worked deep 

into his palms,

he ignored,

carried to the factory 

thirty-eight years. 

(end)

(image of Da Blues, who likes a good poem)

Mary’s Lullaby

Mary arrives at the human 

resource center workshop, 

announces she’s pregnant 

and high-fives Big Bob. 

They roar with laughter. 

I contact the nurse, 

who takes Mary 

to the center’s clinic. 

When they return, 

Mary goes to her station. 

The nurse confirms 

Mary’s pregnancy — shocking, 

he says in hushed tones, 

because she’d undergone 

a somewhat voluntary procedure. 

When I ask what 

he means by “somewhat voluntary,”

he turns heel and hurries away. 

I can’t help staring at Mary. 

She notices me, 

makes several pelvic thrusts, 

rocks cradle arms, 

and begins singing. 

(end)

All poems by David Henson

(images all taken in the Charleston District of Bremerton, WA)