Crossing Out Bars
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
Our love had never settled into notes
Or melded into melodies. The heat
Grew high enough, but flaming seas burn boats
Instead of making music. Waves off Crete,
If fire and heaved toward the island, could
Approximate the holocaust that came
Instead of chords. The composition would
Have been destruction’s seismic counterclaim
And not Chopin, ein Götterdamerung
At last. In such a cataclysm we
Were self-consumed together. Freud and Jung
Had nothing they could offer shamelessly.
..The flotsam and our jetsam wash up on
….Remaining shores. Our tacit bars are gone.
KIRK DOUGLAS GRACE