Presenting Greg Santos

How the Poet Laureate Spends His Days

All I do these drawn-out days

is sit in my kitchen at Pheasant Ridge

In my upholstered chair by a window

with dusk pouring into my room,

I appeared to be doing nothing

I sat in an armchair in the living room

and turned the pages without a clue

when suddenly I found myself lying on a couch

where I closed my eyes

Instead of choosing one thing over another,

I would do nothing

I decided as I lay down on the carpet

I had nothing to do

is it my job simply to sit as still

as the glass of water on the night table

then I walked out into the blackened woods

and sat on a rock

And who cares if it takes me all day

to write a poem

I was never the smartest monkey on the block

A cento made from poems from Ballistics by Billy Collins

What, Me Worry?

today i empathized with the top of a tower

i’ve been looking at the screen for a long time

you are a goldfish and i am alienated

do not let me alienate you because i am small and afraid


a crumpled ball of paper

some inconceivable crisis thing

a calm, melodramatic, silent apocalypse

from brandon scott gorrell

To Whom It May Concern,

I went to the grocery store today.

I made the man at the grocery store nervous.

My mom called me.

No one cares about poetry.

Probably going to die alone.

I want to write a poem with you.

from Ellen Kennedy

greg santos blogs here

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