Poems by Hugh Mann


Poets are like parents: both are possessive and obsessive. Poets lose sleep worrying about their poetry, while parents lose sleep worrying about their progeny. With reams of ingenuity and dreams of perpetuity, poets and parents preserve the present in order to pacify the past and nurture the future.



 Collegial and coequal, readers and writers reciprocate and educate. Readers start at the beginning and work forward, but writers start at the end and work backward. Like alpha and beta, but neither is greater, readers and writers explore reason and reality in parallel, but they need and meet each other in a series of remote tête-à-têtes that let needs be met.



 Promoting ploys with deployment, bombs with enjoyment, and boys with interment, war is a tormented, demented metaphor and euphemism for fraud, linking domestic debenture with foreign adventure. Unwanted and unwarranted, but wildly cheered by profiteers, war is a hyped-up, hopeless trope imperiled and bedeviled by deadly medleys of screams and tears with corpses and caskets.

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