Zoned for Conservation

Benjamin Jenkins, life, New England, New Hampshire, poem, poems, poetry, Portsmouth, writing

They say only the strong survive!

Looking around this room,

I can tell that is certainly the case.

A mighty tree has come crashing down

The whole forest heard it fall.

Electric Ivy

Benjamin Jenkins, life, New England, New Hampshire, poem, poems, poetry, Portsmouth, writing

“Do you think it’s the apocalypse?”

“You mean right this minute, or in general?”

I have never been asked this question

With such earnest,

From a sane, pragmatic individual.

Sane, in the sense he has made money.

Sane, in the sense he has children.

Sane, in the sense I trust him not to become incarcerated.

Is this pragmatic thinking?

The Girl Scout Cookie

Benjamin Jenkins, New England, New Hampshire, poem, poems, poetry, Portsmouth, writing

Portsmouth was settled in 1630.

My first glimpse through universe-rimmed black holes was in 1987.

Smells of rain spattered cobblestone, dusk, and wet wooden framed brick structures

Churn with diesel fuel and brackish ocean.

I’m surrounded by the building of burned hours…

Tongue Rust

Benjamin Jenkins, life, New England, New Hampshire, poem, poems, poetry, writing

 

My dreams were absurd, scrambled last night, I know.

Can’t seem to recall any coherent flow-

Or any type of image worth review.

When I awoke, so vivid I could taste it.

Sober reality focused and it was gone.

A flicker across the retina of my mind’s eye.

Try to fire neurons in other hemispheres,

Try to recall that little detail-

A detail you might be creating

Or mixing from other flickers.

Like this poem, excavated from my skull.

Surface Tension

Benjamin Jenkins, life, New England, New Hampshire, poem, poems, poetry, writing

Lurking wind; Port-City brick sea

Polluted by the gull scream,

Sticky gelato melt,

Salty sting of deep fryer.

Foamy Hampton Beach brine

Soaks into pores,

Protects me from the sun.

A humid one.

Amongst a throng of wandering galaxies:

Painted toes like candy;

Thonged in Birkenstock.

Salt and sand powdered thighs

Gazing through the back of hands

At the Atlantic horizon.

Fish for a smile,

Feel chest crash

At cresting wave.

Against battened down ducks

A model of Beech wood

Fair less float.