with the patience of monuments –

19 Jul

– from Gail Kelley an old my space friend and fellow poet

Jack Henry steps beyond the page in his newest collection of poetry. In the forward to with the patience of monuments he speaks of the thread that holds the book together, and in his poems he is Christ and Pilate and the spear thrust between his own ribs all at once. In one of the first poems of the collection he claims “…i’m no Ezra Pound” but he comes close poem after poem. In the poem “three lines in” I can almost hear him screaming the lines at his computer screen after another failed attempted to mimic rhyme schemes and pastoral verse has found its way into his inbox or onto his bookshelf for approval. The love poems hidden in the pages of this collection are a kiss full of sour-mash and cigarettes that linger on your lips long after the cover is closed. These poems are a desert fairytale, a siren’s song, a bum’s final words, a whore’s spread legs, a discarded needle, a lie whispered in the dark. These poems are a reminder of my own addictions.


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