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ModPo essay #4: Prepositions and Infinitives: A Mayer Experimental and Randomized Index

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to a fleeting moment of awe and dread to a world that’s paranoid… to alight and pollinate-- to assimilate 20th century ideas To attain the final, greatest goal? to avert the difficult question. To be denied, too pure to not be sure To be seduced by the appetites and desires to break the chains of sin and immorality. To bring us to this time and place? To call my father’s gods, subdue To choose one is to choose them both: to close my eyes to come into existence, to survive to convert filth in the atmosphere to correct the incorrection - to dance to; but I fake it, trying to stay in step, to desire your company To earn by birth what we had been endowed. to ease their conscience – to escape the bonds of slavery mentality, to everything’s reality. To glory and to honor, let not the fleeting summer’s wrath To God, to plead for strength to understand to grow, to learn all, to comprehend To guide, to entertain, and to enthuse. To heal itself, be born anew. To help us in our need…” to integrat...
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Why I Am Not a Sculptor

If I were a sculptor I'd carve in stone The face of my beloved I'd sand the surface Of the stone To smooth perfection Because art should represent life As it is, and as It ought to be But I digress At a moment when discipline And precision are most required… I'd chisel her perfectly Centered nose, on her perfectly Symmetrical face With care and concentration I'd reproduce the mystic Contours of her forehead I'd round out her chin And save her lips For last Then I'd compare Her sculptured features To my own A grotesque genetic mixture Of master and slave Of Native and Negro My weathered face Overexposed and Burned to a deep hue I'd ask her: Is black still beautiful My African queen? My Goddess of the Nile?  Or has that fashion changed, That style gone out of style? But I digress again -  I am not a sculptor I am a poet And these words are All I have to preserve In time, for time, The beauty of my beloved
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ModPo essay #1: Emily Dickinson's Initiation Rite of Passage

I t aste a liquor never brewed (214) by  Emily Dickinson I taste a liquor never brewed –  From Tankards scooped in Pearl –  Not all the Frankfort Berries Yield such an Alcohol! Inebriate of air – am I –  And Debauchee of Dew –  Reeling – thro' endless summer days –  From inns of molten Blue –  When "Landlords" turn the drunken Bee Out of the Foxglove's door –  When Butterflies – renounce their "drams" –  I shall but drink the more! Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats –  And Saints – to windows run –  To see the little Tippler Leaning against the – Sun! The central theme of this poem is initiation. It is an initiation into a special order. And it is an on-going initiation that lasts a lifetime. The idea of initiation is introduced metaphorically in the first stanza’s first two lines, but it is a well-hidden metaphor. Close examination ...
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