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[Poetry] Two Poems by Sam Kaspar



in cartooned time, billions of years presented on

microscopic slides

from professors –

slimy ancestor, amoeba-like, bound for vegetative

   creeps grazing up sandbar ramps, to be the first

   on land in slippery slopes, intaking

   nutrients across tenuous syncytial walls

looked like it happened in a few days

that nobody can watch


in storied history boats crept ever forward, ever-

more abundant in their stays, hulls laid heavy, barreled

   soda precursors and booze, dry powder kegs

   make it pop

looks like it all took hours, navigated in


distant memory I moved from town to city

inching my way there Busily Happened fast

involved night descends Staring lonely walls

…an urge – can’t look out

the tiny window and its prey

   gives synergistic energy, wealth un-

   nerved, of reckoning this

   nervous minute i

   needed, surging, wanted all of it right now,

   but there’s not much to

thermal entropy, hot messes each


Through kinetic chains they transmit And don’t bind

seems like lost relationships took years to never happen

but some came true, nobody ever really, really attains what

i thought it was, but i’m okay out here and

will take a second or two to send a birthday message

at least, or maybe at most Next year we can

visit, if you’re not lost, and too far from the coast. 


cooking meth (the last resort waves)


cooking meth, you have to not get hooked

which means not trying it even once because

it’s said by many who’ve lost their teeth and wasted away

that the first hit gives such intense euphoria

that you’ll not resist


the rest of your life

as if on cue

and never find…


…her mint green bikini over smooth soft flesh, her cheer and conversation, barely a taste though as we spoke on the beach, big genuine smile, charismatic demeanor, an amazing few minutes before she had to go

it was so much fun that when i couldn’t find her i had the same feeling about another girl, and another, and oh yeah that one too

producing that feeling became a thrill

and once the feeling was there and I took a hit, the thrill increased, generating, building, a furnace heat rising from sun-baked sand, leading to a further story, a partner, a life


…the middle aged man I see, getting yelled at by I think his wife, is he living? or consumed into the same absence that the burned out addict has hiding in the shadow of hospital bushes where they’ll decide whether to resuscitate him this time or do a slow-code to let him go, rather than face the difficult re-assimilation into society that might not change anything


…an old man eats alone as an observer, isn’t engaging with the younger generation because he’s past that point, I don’t know if he’s he’s got a family somewhere, or some kind of partner, but somehow he ended up at this meal alone, at this resort, maybe he’s on business, ordering his meal that comes out cold, unsure who did the cooking… but he trusts it’s clean, everything cut just right, never questioned it in his mind, ingests it and looks around, will smile appreciatively if acknowledged, otherwise looks at his phone periodically, busy pretending to not look lonely, not sure if he’s just there or if more is going on inside his head in the social realm, maybe he’s getting away from it all and is here to write his memoirs or a novel before he dies or gets frailer, but looks wistful seeing people playing with their kids, unknown what kind of life he had but this reveals some nice dignity and humanity, I like him and we converse for awhile before we leave.


…a girl from the age of first love – some old men ignore them, they have granddaughters that age, some younger men look at them inappropriately, but nothing happens, some peer away from the addictions clinging to their self, their families and books and phones and meals and watching, not even questioning whether this nourishment went wrong, some unrecognized or even welcomed perversion, a sick big second chance of some kind


but the last resort waves come in again and again, they keep coming like rapidly cycling guests, but I’m not sure if it’s memory or if those people actually occupy the chairs that I’m looking at right now, they’ll change in a week, or if it’s just concept and figments of imagination or hypothetical society that we’re just populating like a chess board onto these beach chairs with individuals not connected except by their presence here and their overlapping excursions booked like fish homing in on the feeding reef, hooked by the fishers but planning a boat ride to see more, fecund ocean pool of genetic material and responses either innate or set in motion by some yet unknown stimuli,


by reflex these move us here by celestial notions and commercial suppliers that connect with you like food and prey This place, we’re all just Using



Sam was born in Canada, and lives in the US as a retired physician & part-time writer. He enjoys rowing, hiking, tennis, amateur photography, jeeps, reading, writing, travel, oxford commas, and especially family. He's had over 50 publications so far of his poetry and short prose, plus several scientific articles. Preferred topics include nature, existence, social justice, emotion, and heritage. He’s been a finalist in writing contests from Vallum, Iron Horse, Sand Hills, Cairde Sligo Arts Festival, and others. Facebook readings: Sam Kaspar the writer @MightySamster




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