Jackson Holbert
Kitsch With Ruptured Rhythms And Present Tenses
Perfection, of any kind, is not what we are after,
And the poetry we invented hasn’t been invented yet;
We know human folly like the backs of our hands,
And, because of this, we want to discard armies and fleets;
When we laugh, respectable senators dismiss us with laughter,
And when we cry the little children are already dead in the streets.
* a response, in admiration, to W.H. Auden’s Epitaph on a Tyrant
Jackson Holbert is a senior at Lakeside High School in Nine Mile Falls, Washington. This is his first published work.
Return to January 2013 Edition
Perfection, of any kind, is not what we are after,
And the poetry we invented hasn’t been invented yet;
We know human folly like the backs of our hands,
And, because of this, we want to discard armies and fleets;
When we laugh, respectable senators dismiss us with laughter,
And when we cry the little children are already dead in the streets.
* a response, in admiration, to W.H. Auden’s Epitaph on a Tyrant
Jackson Holbert is a senior at Lakeside High School in Nine Mile Falls, Washington. This is his first published work.
Return to January 2013 Edition