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Mark Solars Feb 26
it must be difficult
to be a silent e.
imagine being relegated
to the end of a word
giving other vowels
the sounds of their own names
but never complaining
or making a peep.
being silenced in early modern english
with no attitude of spit, i mean spite.
imagine a world without
silent e -
all Janes would be Jans;
Petes would be Pets.
wine would be win - pour me
another glass of win?
Pet had a dat with a cut girl?
where would we be
without silent e?


ms/'17
Mark Solars Feb 26
the adoring fans were staged
along the ramparts
hurling insults at the critics
who had been laying seige
even before there was
the printed word.

came the assault,
the artillery was poised, loaded,
and fired.  

"Shakespeare was a fake!"
"Stephen Crane wud a turrible writer!"
shot the critics.
again the volley launched
..."John Keats poems were often vague,
languorously narcotic and lacking a clear eye!"
"baudelaire pierced the heart of wordsworth,"
cried the romantics.
ginsberg let out a howl,
thoreau retreated to the woods,
and plath and woolf did not survive.

insults dripped
to the languid ears
of the faithful
and the faithless hordes.

lines upon lines,
prose and poetry,
were formed
and the letters of words
marched on
in spite of us all.

ms/'18
Mark Solars Feb 24
Time Traveler

on my wall is a calendar.
this month it is an october scene
with a new england village tucked in a
brilliant gold, crimson, and russet autumn
interspersed with white pines and a white church
among tranquil houses.
the village is silent from this distance,
but it is not a far walk.

when we descend the hills
these kind folk tell about the joys and struggles
of their lives.
close up
i have been coveting the dodge pickup truck
parked off the corner from the bookstore.
i can hear mrs. emmons in the red house with the tin roof
tell me of her husband’s hard drinking habits.
her neighbor, mrs. parker,  in the white 18th century home
will complain that her son eloped with the minister’s daughter,
and the couple that live on bennington steet
are celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary on the day
i turn the calendar to november 1st.
unfortunately, i will miss the occasion.
the people of the village do not seem to take notice of me,
I am just another traveler passing through
like so many others.
the woodcutters are laying up their store for winter,
carefree children are preparing for halloween,
the teenage boys and girls are busy with homecoming plans,
and dads and sons and daughters are carving jack o’ lanterns.
on porches on this clear sunlit day.
i pass my days at the top of the hill
reading, grading papers,
and gazing as far in the distance
as my angle permits.

i have spent nearly a month here
and must leave on the 31st of october.
i must turn another page in my life.
in november i am heading to cape hatteras
and fish for a month
with the man near the lighthouse
who has cast his line into the surf.


ms/’10
Mark Solars Feb 24
with the other dogs
running in the back alley,
came howling laughter.

ms/'07
Mark Solars Feb 23
ephelides

freckle to freckle,
if my lips were a vessel,
there are many ports.

ms/'22
Mark Solars Feb 23
if ever reborn,
her brush and comb made of horn,
will i hope to be.

ms/'23
Mark Solars Feb 23
never would i see
her lips a redder color
than hibiscus tea.

ms/'25
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