Poetry 101 Rehab with Andy Townend
“Not a Movable Feast”
The last deadline passed.
There’s no air left to breathe,
and forever’s much shorter.
Copyright © 2015-07-20, by Liz Bennefeld. All rights reserved.
And I found myself writing another poem on deadlines, the passing thereof, later in the night:
“All Deadlines Passed”
All deadlines passed, all actions for next year,
six months, a handful of weeks or more…
no profits will bring profit.
Streets fill with, until now, strangers, foes,
setting out chairs and tables and the last
of food, drink, treasures tucked away
for future needs, needed no longer.
Tell your stories now to one another,
finding more in common, openness…
nothing left but time to listen, time
to heal, to care, to understand
that nothing matters now but knowing
no one need ever be alone
until the world itself
Copyright © 2015-07-21, by Liz Bennefeld. All rights reserved.
Again riffing off recent articles about climate change and the possible ending of human civilization. This time I have taken my inspiration from “If World Leaders Can Skip Deadlines, Why Can’t I?” by Carl Honoré (Opinion, Sunday Review, 18 July 2015, NYTimes.com). I know! I’m going to have to write a whole slew of happy poems, now.
Quotation: “In the early 20th century, the term made its way into the newspaper world, where it retained its make-or-break menace. But then the word went mainstream, and deadlines became more of a movable feast.”