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I’m not gonna share every poem I’ve penned (usually mighty quickly) in the mornings to meet the “Poem A Day Challenge” for Poetry Month. Some, not all.

I plan to gather them for an ebook collection when the month is done, and I have time to go over and tweak/edit them. Posting them all kind of defeats the self-pubbing plan. :-/

But I will post this one, as it marks the 49th anniversary of that day Bono so passionately sang about: “shot rings out in the Memphis sky…free at last!”

April 4, 1968

I was eight that year when I wailed

in horror and wept the way girls

weep at news of killing, and eight

too when I began to lose the shock

and tears for assassinations

 

You get used to news of anything, if

horrors happens often enough–you sob

and puke and lose sleep the first time

second time, maybe one, two more

and then it’s “same old”

 

Shameful, isn’t it, that we adjust?

Jaded should mean we become more

like the gem, not less: more reflective, more

touchable, more able to heal or make wise,

marked forever by the blows that stop

the hearts of great dreamers

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