Inaugural Poems
A Moment of Induction
Jerry Bradley
January 6, 2021
Friends, the Geminids have lighted
the path to our uncertain future
as they scattered their electors across the sky
like woodworms eating a violin.
The campaign we conducted is over,
but we still call upon the maestro today
and cross ourselves before him –
spectacles, testicles, wallet, and watch –
as we try to become instruments of his will.
But the darker the sky, the farther we can see.
Look, look, look at what sails by toward
the other side of the world, those dark continents
where whales upend steamships
and people sweeten their tea with whiskey.
We know how we are and why we should not
be that way. So what are we congratulating
ourselves about, that we did not destroy ourselves
any more than the comet could? Still, let us show
nonetheless a moment’s contrition in case one day
like our defeated opponent – ha! – we are obliged
as he is to kneel before his Phaethon overlords.
Jerry Bradley, a member of the Texas Institute of Letters, is University Professor of English and the Leland Best Distinguished Faculty Fellow at Lamar University. He is the author of 9 books and has published in New England Review, Modern Poetry Studies, Poetry Magazine, and Southern Humanities Review.
America
karla k. morton
January 5, 2021
It’s been whispered on the lips
of women forced and sold and beaten;
rallied lung-top
amid artillery fire in every war
we have ever known.
It’s a stone lady with a proffered torch;
the sand of the Gulf of Mexico,
the airport flooring my friend kissed
on his return from Eastern Europe.
We have been burned and blown and crushed.
We have been torn by limb
and intestine.
Yet still, we gather --
we gather today.
We hoist our children upon our shoulders,
Look child, look at all that is possible.
We are more than science, cells, and big bang;
more than political party –
we are one human standing beside another,
each put on this earth with a gift.
Let us trade onions for corn,
corn for bowls,
bowls for cotton,
cotton for steel,
steel for trucks,
trucks for schools,
schools for minds –
minds that know
to plant onions.
Look child,
whisper its name,
loose it from the peaks of the Sangre de Cristos.
What echoes back
is more than concrete,
more than industry,
more than art,
more than crops…
it is kindness.
You there, hoist that child upon your shoulders.
Look child,
look at all that could be.
Texas Poet Laureate karla k. morton's 14th poetry collection The National Parks: A Century of Grace has just been released by TCU Press (Dec. 2020). A percentage of royalties from morton and co-writer and fellow Texas Poet Laureate Alan Birkelbach will go back to the National Park System. Morton was, and is, in both politics and life, a hopeless poet of hope.
The Work of Inauguration
Jeffrey Taylor
January 4, 2021
— after “The Work of Christmas” by Howard Thurman
When the echoes of the National Anthem still,
When the spotlights cool,
When the dignitaries return home,
When the prayer giver returns to her flock,
The work Inauguration promises begins:
To hear the lost,
To heal the nation,
To feed the hungry and homeless,
To release the detained,
To rebuild nation and trust,
To bring peace to nations,
To sing a new song.
Jeffrey L. Taylor never received higher than a C in English throughout school and college. Through articles in recreational computer journals, he learned to write with rhythm and conciseness, often too concise. In poetry, that is not a problem. Around 1990, poems began waking him in the night. He now writes in the day.
“The Work of Christmas” by Howard Thurman
On the Occasion Of
Jesse Doiron
January 3, 2021
Those who have lived long
count not in years
but in occasions.
Calendars and clocks
tell well the time,
not our emotions.
Popes will come and go
and governments.
Kings begin and end.
Their ceremonies
deign the dates with
mindful memories.
So comes first moment
of our leader’s
careful, crafted words.
Inauguration.
January.
Day. Time. Emotion.
Those who have lived long
count not in years
but in occasions.
Jesse Doiron was once wrestled to the ground by bodyguards of Eduard Shevardnadze, at the time, the president of the Republic of Georgia. The first secretary of the American embassy, who witnessed incident, quickly brushed aside the fracas– a minor misunderstanding. It was then that Jesse realized presidents command attention.
Do Not Make a Speech
Jesse Doiron
January 2, 2021
Talk to us
in words we know,
from thoughts we think
and tears we feel.
Do not lie
to make false claims
with words we fear
that shake our faith.
Tell the truth
in clear, sound words
that ring in ears
and sing in hearts.
Say it well
with words we hold
to be our own
as much as yours.
Do not make a speech.
Do not make a speech.
Do not make a speech.
Jesse Doiron was once wrestled to the ground by bodyguards of Eduard Shevardnadze, at the time, the president of the Republic of Georgia. The first secretary of the American embassy, who witnessed incident, quickly brushed aside the fracas– a minor misunderstanding. It was then that Jesse realized presidents command attention.
From Nazareth they come: a poem for the inauguration
Herman Sutter
January 1, 2021
Upon this starless night
a father lingers
His sleeping child clings
to him
Out of breath he lingers
Surely kindness will meet us here
Shoes thick with wet
his feet grow numb
He pulls his jacket tighter
Notes the buttons he has lost
His load that much lighter
Surely kindness will meet us here
The empty street is strange to him
The night grows heavy
The streetlamp grows brighter
Shifting child in his arms
still a father lingers
Surely kindness will meet us here
Beyond the lamplight barren branches
catch the shadows
whispering
How far they’ve come
yet still so far
He hears the shadows whispering
Surely kindness will meet you here
This starless night
a father lingers
as silence gathers all around
His sleeping child
clings to him
In the distance an empty sound
Surely kindness will find us here
Where shall we go
the father whispers
Around them silence gathering
Yet nothing stirs on all the earth
except the silence
gathering
No star in sight
this endless night
Only lamplight
glistening
But not a soul is listening
The empty street in darkness sinks
wordless as a prayer
Beyond this lamp there is a dawn
Surely kindness awaits us there
Herman Sutter (librarian and volunteer hospital chaplain) is the award-winning author of The World Before Grace and the blog The World Before Grace (and after). Works have appeared in Ekphastic Review, Iris, Texas Poetry Calendar, tejascovido, The Langdon Review, By the Light of a Neon Moon (Madville Press). His comic epic, “Constance” received the Innisfree prize for poetry.