Posts Tagged ‘ TRUCK ’

“Passing a Truck Full of Chickens at Night on Highway Eighty” a poem by Jane Mead

Passing a Truck Full of Chickens at Night on Highway Eighty

What struck me first was their panic.
Some were pulled by the wind from moving
to the ends of the stacked cages,
some had their heads blown through the bars—
and could not get them in again.
Some hung there like that—dead—
their own feathers blowing, clotting
in their faces. Then
I saw the one that made me slow some—
I lingered there beside her for five miles.
She had pushed her head through the space
between bars—to get a better view.
She had the look of a dog in the back
of a pickup, that eager look of a dog
who knows she’s being taken along.
She craned her neck.
She looked around, watched me, then
strained to see over the car—strained
to see what happened beyond.
That is the chicken I want to be.

– Jane Mead

with gratitude to dmf  ~



(This feature is part of TRUCK’s Theme Issue on the List or Catalog Poem. You can go HERE for an Index of the Participating Poets.)


“I believe in the lives of many things . . . . worn out and reborn. In Kyoto you find a very interesting tomb called fudezuka. It’s a tombstone for old pens. Once you use your pens, you cannot put them in the garbage, you have to perform a ritual.”

~  Hidetoshi Kato

In Northampton, MA as you step from shop to street you’re liable to look up from an ice cream cone or a thought, to see a clown standing off at some not far enough distance, staring at something, maybe you.

I saw a Monarch stopping over on a Commercial Street P’town blossom just before the necessary journey to Mexico. A friend took its picture. I wanted to introduce myself. We open we close. August folds us up, flutters us away.

Safety deposit box in which I save anecdotes, movie tickets torn in half, oily breadcrumbs of origin, particular colors that still fan out, recipes, coins, formulas, equations, nibs stained black and blue, words, white space, red candle wax, winter dreams, longing on a hinge, long-sleeved and emerald green.


Truck: INTRODUCTION & INDEX: The Catalog or List Poem, Eileen R Tabios, guest editor

Truck: INTRODUCTION & INDEX: The Catalog or List Poem.

This November, by Anny Ballardini | TRUCK November Issue 2014

Anny Ballardini

Truck, November Issue 2014

This November,
With a well in my self

Draining water to saints

Kierkegaard’s paradox

From Socrates’s endless testing


While looking into the black pond

For answers

__God answers


This November,
Appalling month

Over 100 answered

Joining mine to theirs – yours / ours

Under Saint Cecilia’s patronage

Musicians blew their horns

Organs woke many

While the girl grew ecstatic

In thinking she could


This November,
Thick in air stuffed with light

In closed rooms

At night

Trying to think

When thought gets lost

In and out of self

To accommodate

Past / future events

On a ten fragmented score

This November,
Has seen mountain peaks


Sturdy Siqueiros’s hands

Leak tears and grow roses

On Time’s façade

Ancestors chant

Interpretative Chinese lantern plants

Decorate Proust’s monumental

This November,

Of seeds and piano keys

Of herbs


Of vincristine


Of crashed & renewed hopes

Of the makers of Illusions

Of a Leap of Faith

This November,
Smiles down at us

With its temperate sun

Its derailed tracks

Its alarm clocked underground routine

Messages on trains and greyhound busses

Slit throats bathed in the forgiveness of popes

Sacraments soaked in the concept of



This November,
Without choice

The eleventh

Set as an Acheronian stud in a cameo

The rows of windows

People dis/appear in dim streets

They dis/appear in my mail

Their white poems against the black of Truck

With my acknowledgment to my

Moving November Poets

This November,
In the life of all

Distanced in our flesh

Distracted in our oaths


Booted steps in echoing bells

Coats / cloaks

“Anything but loss”

Pleading for the word God gives to the Just

From those milky sky-s.

This November, 
Cold at the end

In the bones

With Thanksgiving on Fb

Teas honey chestnuts


Giving thanks:

The girl is still alive


But still alive.
© Anny Ballardini
TRUCK November issue 2014

Six Poems by Donna Fleischer | TRUCK – Anny Ballardini, Guest Editor, November 9, 2014

Wind Drives the Rain

by Donna Fleischer

In your time there have been those who spoke clearly for the moment of lightning.
Muriel Rukeyser (Are You Born? Are You Born?)


Truck: Donna Fleischer.