Tag Archives: American poem

2026, Day Book, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry

Keep in mind that Baba Yaga prefers dark chocolate and tea with lemon

Find enough faith for the day in the radio
there’s hot coffee enough on the stove upstairs
light the first pipe of the day, a pinch of tobacco
to wash back the slug of coffee, push back
the cool morning, a tease that spring is fading
the summer yard mowers have already attacked
wanting to be home and looking for ways
to be away, the body noisy from needing
another 3000 mile check up, another rusty joint
replaced and still must go must go must go must
but this morning
enjoy the taste of coffee and tobacco
commodities for which we are grateful
in these days
when we must remind ourselves
we have been abandoned
by the faiths our grandmothers held to
and we must make our own peace
with the witch hidden by the dark eastern woods.

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2026, Day Book, Ohio River Valley Literature, Poet's Life, poetry, the no-scape

Something like a literary tradition

I feel like a word drunk boxer
not wrung out, not yet
standing on the corner
in the river town setting sun.

All my favorite poets
carry a pugilist’s soul
and I am grateful
mine is too.

[Daybook 2026 // Spring 4.10.26]

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Mick Parsons
Mick Parsons
@rivercitymick

Poet. Essayist. Fictioner. Steamboat fireman. Bit of a grackle.

1,698 posts
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2026, Day Book, Ohio River Valley Literature, spring, the no-scape

Its Own, Overpacked and Underexplored Continent

4.7.26

What then what?

Some mornings
all there is
is rage and them
that lit the fire
claim
they will not
own it
instead
they cry
calling themselves
burn victims.

4.8.26

I dreamt of my grandparent’s house on Bantam last night. My daughter and my wife were talking about moving in and who would take the master bedroom. In a dream state, the house is always smaller than I remember and I always take note of it, and I think about the large attic that was its own, overpacked and underexplored continent. I think to remind them about the central vacuum system and how the guest bedroom was an uncomfortable flotsam of furniture one of them will want to redecorate. The old horse barn, the large field, the woods I explored when I was growing up feel like distant lands and the front windows of the house are covered, like they’re boarded up on the outside except for a sliver of light. I wonder if the creek still runs through and if the walnut and apple trees still fruit on schedule. They are talking around me and I realize they are not aware I think I’m dreaming.

[Daybook 2026 // Spring 4.7-4.8-26]

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Mick Parsons
Mick Parsons
@rivercitymick

Poet. Essayist. Fictioner. Steamboat fireman. Bit of a grackle.

1,698 posts
0 followers

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