(This world has 2,500 poems from me, many of them some of the finest examples of their — multiply — respective forms, yet will not even make available to me a legal shelter from the rainand wind in which to continue to write.)
Enough.)
*****
Now is the time I think I will not write
For from the suffering to me hath come
There will be neither value nor delight
In reading about that which I become
To know of this progressive tragedy
Read the account which there already be
Click upon “The New Holocaust” to see
What will be happening to poetry
I will not dignify this suffering
By the recording of each grim detail
Which to my readers no pleasure can bring,
Watching as deprivation now prevail
Verses previous penned now outward go —
Those may be all the verses that I know
*****
The poet/editor of this website is physically disabled, and lives at a fraction of her nation’s poverty level. Contributions may be made at:https://www.gofundme.com/are-you-a-patron-of-the-arts
