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Keith T. Fancher
Kid Stuff
A “pressure system,” the invisible
wind like a wave which never breaks,
all rolling crescendo forever
and the jets surf it inland like it’s their own
personal hand of god,
steady as a diagram
of three rays, the tines of a trident.
“Air Force” —
chapter six from the grimoire.
They’re smaller than seagulls
and silent behind the glass.
Yes, I can appreciate that
millions are dead.
But listen:
it’s so quiet today!
Reading a poem
by Robert Creeley at the window.
For Love
and the pantomime of force
skipping across the surface of the real
thing.
Old Neptune
splashing in the sea.
About the writer:
Keith T. Fancher was born in the California redwoods and raised in the Blue Ridge foothills. He holds a BS in computer science and an MA in film studies, which are no help at all when publishing poetry. He lives in San Francisco.
Image: Storm Mountains by Rinaldo Cuneo (1877-1939). Oil on canvas. No size specified. Circa 1930. Public domain.
OJAL Art Incorporated, publishing since 2017 as OPEN: Journal of Arts & Letters (O:JA&L) and its imprint Buttonhook Press, is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit corporation supporting writers and artists worldwide.
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