Author Archives: Lee Dunn

Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on Spillwords.com, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.

the creeps

I feel those goddamn creeps again
are there any curses known to man
shouted out through tears of brokenness
that will serve as sandbags against this tide

no I will spare you the futile obscenities
and hold them as heavy stones
their cool rounded flatness fits my palms
this sediment of bitterness

I mourn over morning coffee
I read the news and hang my head
I wish that in my sapling years
my selfish mind could have seen the need
and done the deed the children feed
away away over there

so take me now part and parcel
and my whining first world problems
and trade me for just one just one
of those bombed out souls
away away over there

put me in their place
of fire and brimstone
and bring them here to my breakfast table

for I am sure they would not mourn over the coffee
and I am sure my life would find its purpose

my collected sack of useless stones
left by the wayside at last

Guns In the Classroom

Hear hear.

Joyce O’Day's avatarEndless Bitchen Summer

After dedicating 18+ years of my life to teaching high school before retiring this year, I can say with authority that arming teachers with weapons is a very bad and dangerous idea. While some of my former colleagues may disagree, I assert that only more tragedy will occur on an armed-and-ready-to-shoot campus.

Most people who propose arming teachers have not set foot on a high school campus since they graduated. So let me enlighten you. Schools are over crowded. My last teaching assignment was at an at-risk school – the largest Title I school in Nevada. I had 230 students. Most classes exceeded 40 students. Desks were jammed so close together that in an effort to assist students, I had to squeeze between desks. In that type of proximity, a motivated student could have disarmed me in seconds.

While most of my students were great kids, I had legitimate gang…

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A note from the underground

Hello, solitary one.

I’m a little uncertain
a little diffident
and hesitant
to come a-knocking at your door.

Is it yourself you are content with
for company?
It is, after all, the old reliable.
Do you, perhaps, mistrust the throng,
or will you just not suffer the fools?

The privations of apartness
need happy amelioration at times.
No?
Are you so in the present
because the past is past
and tomorrow knows you not?

You are proud, so proud.
‘Tis not a sin.
A rare bird has few of a feather.

I have heard your voice at night.
It is earnest, intent.
So at odds with the imbecility outside.

Do you like tea?
I would bring the finest from the Orient.
Or, better maybe, wine?
Chablis or Chardonnay in a pop bottle.
A bit of camembert, a crusty loaf.

And, if you dare,
a small canvas and pastels
I will paint you
While you read me your dreams.

I will sense if I impose.
Hold your sting.
I will go quietly,
But not without regret.

 

You who

You

who walks in grace
flashes the smile
the covert glance
from knowing eyes

who knows me not
but knows me all

You

who have pinned me
under glass
in a frame
a collected butterfly
with hidden colors
for your eyes only

You

have no need to flaunt
you move in rarefied air
but not over proudly
to speak to you is to speak to the earth
you are an attainable treasure
from the box of Pandora
born of the genus angelic.

Grateful for the pain

dear one

thank you for this morning’s pain
I shall not make a grumble
I may never feel this good again
so now i will be humble

the only things that hampered me
were an aching back and head
so i feel as though you pampered me
and let me out of bed

gone the crushing malady
that formulates its lies
convincing with finality
that never lets us rise

gone the ringing in my ears
the itching and the twitch
the cornucopia of fears
and my side’s annoying stitch

i feel as though the sixteen tons
have suddenly been lifted
and I’m among the lucky ones
whose miracle’s been gifted.

One Day

one day i will pay for this
for this warm bed with a snowstorm outside
for the surety of the next meal
for the mastery of my own castle
for my treasured seclusion
for to sleep without being awakened
for the morning coffee and the leisure to read
for the free government money
for the free care of my health
for the freedom to go where i will
and the expectation that all of this is my due.

i think- have i not already paid?
through a lifetime of toil, loss, emptiness?

yes.
but.
there are the Haves and the Have Nots.
we wonder at the reasons for wars and revolutions
when there are those who have none of of the things i have
and see no hope
and there are those who have all of my things and want more

one day, the have nots will come

the meek shall inherit the earth.