Gratitude

Written by Garrison Benson in Poetry on Friday, February 5, 2016.
I'm walking down the worst street
and I see this black guy dancing.
At the time I assume he's crazy,
the fun kind, but I should know
from his Sci-Fi Disco get-up
that he's a spaceman
bearing wisdom from the future.

People sulk by and this guy ...

Continue reading »


Foxwalk

Written by Garrison Benson in Poetry on Thursday, January 28, 2016.
This hippie homesteader
I saw on a DVD
likes to keep some woods
on the edge of his farm,
partly for hunting and foraging,
but mostly—mostly he steps
out, toes first, foxlike,
to his sitting spot
where he cups his hands around his ears
and waits for the wilderness ...

Continue reading »


Ghosts

Written by Garrison Benson in Poetry on Tuesday, January 26, 2016.
Home is where your ghosts roam,
where you buried the dog
you kind of neglected
in a cardboard box
too close to the garden,
and every day you walk
mere feet from his bones.

Homecoming means talking to ghosts,
and more, listening,
the end of the prodigal journey,
coming home ...

Continue reading »


Gripped

Written by Garrison Benson in Poetry on Sunday, December 13, 2015.
At church camp they warned us
about sex, drugs, alcohol,
naked women, bad company,
science, other religions,
pants worn too low,
and secular music: Satan's tools
for luring us out of church
and into the world's grip.
The irony is, church gave me my first hit
of a ...

Continue reading »


Welcoming Sadness

Written by Garrison Benson in Poetry on Sunday, December 6, 2015.
What happens
when a dancing person
meets a moping person
on the road?
Somewhere in the world
right now,
someone got the job,
someone found a twenty
in her skinny pants,
someone may now kiss the bride.
Elsewhere someone gave up on the dream
and is now driving back to ...

Continue reading »