Gary Blankenship , Poet

Gary Blankenship is a retired financial manager whose avocation is writing poetry. His work has appeared in zines and paper mags in the USA and other countries. He edits the poetry pages of www.writershood.com, and his personal home page is http://gardawg.homestead.com/gardawg.html Gary is also the CEO and Secretary for Santiam Publishing, which does limited edition chapbook runs and web publication. This often causes him to wonder if he is an editor with a poet rattling around inside or a poet with an editor trying to get out. He has taught, moderated, judged and otherwise likely screwed up his brother and sister poets. Poems by Gary Blankenship

Journey up the River Wang II


I travel with Wang Wei up his long river,
and find that I need more ink, brush and paper.


I hunt for a guidebook to steer our long trek
and none available to help point the way.


My soles shred on the road before the trail ends.
My sprawling notes fade wet with winter’s drizzle.


But even one leaf pressed between dry pages keeps
me searching for others until green dissolves.

Pantun: English Brush Experiment


A brush dipped in ink touches plain paper,
wild herbs flourish ploughed under by my sneeze.
I’ll seize you in tall grass, and we’ll scamper
till dawn as each ensures the other’s pleased.


A draft of wine to put me at my ease,
A fresh sheet joins those tossed upon the fire?
You hide behind drift logs, ever the tease.
When caught in white dunes, you claim to be tired.


On the wall an old drawing I admire,
before me only blank paper, dried brush.
As night comes, we huddle near a bonfire;
though sleepy, we know no reason to rush.


On my table is childish gibberish;
ink and brush hid with bills, legal papers.
Morning, groggy, we head home, damp brush pushed
rushing for early supper, warm wrappers.

A Breeze Dies in the City
(for Lisa J)


geese land
on lake Michigan
never to fly again


did she notice the geese as they swooped by sear’s tower?


paper blows
along the el
never to land again


did she notice the papers as they lay in state street’s gutters?


garlic no longer grows
along the river


the fox and sauk
no longer trap and trade
along the river


we can no longer hear
the black shirts preach
of the black man
they placed on a cross


does she see the traps and let the beaver go free?


does she hear harrison’s lies in traffic to the airport?


smoke rises
from barrels
never to heat again


the city moves on
less one brick


the garden grows
less one flower


the words speak
less one voice


and we wish we could hear
could see what she does
as the hoop moves on


as a breeze dies in the city

On Observing Earth from the Reaches of Space by a Poet Whose Grandmother Believed the Moon Landing Was Fake


Who is the single speck of light
north of Yellowknife?


Why is Barrow lit more
than Fairbanks and Anchorage?


How does anyone sleep
on the Atlantic coast?


Is there a party
on Easter Island or evacuation?


The web creeps into the jungles,
atop mountains, across Gobi and Sarah.


And I can not get away,
I can not get away,


even fog doesn’t hide the display.

Earth Observed by a Poet Who Read Science Fiction When Young: The Stars My Destination

Space looks down at us,

sees a broken web spread

across the planet, hot spots

linked by beaded bands.


We look into space and see

mosaics, stars that resemble

old gods and dead heroes,

no longer of any influence.


When young, we saw adventure

and mystery. Fearless, we took

giant steps; and awestruck, saw

the Big Blue Marble’s wonder.


Now, through eyes in Space,

we see patterns of pollution,

the advance of civilization,

warts and beauty marks alike.


How did we lose the desire

to venture into the unknown.

In fear, we cannot succeed?

Greed? Distrust? Boredom?


Space left to robots, Russians

and beaming entertainment.

>>Back to top<<

Brown

Brown and dark-skinned
I am the color of my people
chocolate like sparrows
a color as deep as anger

Café

Yo soy café, de piel morena
Yo soy el color de mi gente,
chocolate como un gorrión
un color tan profundo como
el café coraje.

by Kevin Velasco
Grade 6, San Ysidro Middle School
originally published in Border Voices

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