Monday, August 26, 2013

Two poems by Rob Plath


I always fantasized about my father being, say, a professor instead of a thug. He would have had a room full of books and a record player. He would have excitedly underlined passages of Kafka . He would not have eaten meat. He would have quoted Tolstoy from his easy chair, "As long as there are slaughterhouses, there will be battlefields." He would have been nobody to fear, especially in the physical sense. He would have never curled his hands into fists. He would have had a soft voice that lulled his child's shape into a state of safety. He would have had a copy of Schopenhauer tucked under his arm as he walked down the sidewalks of Brooklyn . He would have never carried a gun or raised his voice except to quote Prospero in "The Tempest." Perhaps they would have nicknamed my father "The Duke" because of his Sartre-like philosophizing skills and his Gandhi-like pacifism. But you see, this life is full of unfairness.



demons are made
of starlight

& scars have
goddamn souls

Author bio: 

Rob Plath is a 43 year old poet from New York. He has published a lot in the small presses. His most noted book of poetry is A Bellyful of Anarchy (epic rites press, 2009). He lives alone with his cat Daisy. 

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