The Rhetorical Question

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

It’s ill education

It’s the pursuit of satisfaction

Comparing cash value

To the subjective flow of time.

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The Rolling Bones

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

Take a chance and

Roll the bones.

Don’t let it build

Until it bursts.

Mow the lawn,

Water the garden,

Get your hair cut,

Sip Lillet Blanc from a chilled cup.

Allow alcohol to touch your lips,

Don’t let it be the reason they move.

The Fear

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

Heavy influence of substances

Stops the thought process.

Heavy influence of caffeine

Keeps me keen.

Write a horrid mass of

Marble-bag words and splatter plots.

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…