NOTE: With permission, this piece is accompanied by the mesmerizing photography of Tammy J. McNary

by Ben Koch

© Tammy J. McNary

In the age of coughing

sky and skin burn

it’s come to this: Winter needs

a new prime minister.

Our borders have loosened,

the old guards have dozed

in the snow, hunched or keeled

into a final white nap.

The bright seasons

are restless and careless:

when Autumn tosses

a billion rotting pumpkins

over its back fence,

who scolds her?

© Tammy J. McNary

And then Spring slurps up

our pool of resources

for it’s mosaic dazzle;

Summer screeches

across earth leaving blackened

tracks like a drunk

teenager in a Mustang–

who’s taking measures here?

If elected I would quickly employ

a department of seasonal security, I’d call

the hard-ass types who know when to whip

and bite, flannelled poets who shoot

bears just to warm their feet,

© Tammy J. McNary

men of powerfully few words who know

the back places of loneliness

like eccentric lumberjacks

caressing favorite trees like lovers.

Men who know some miseries

are worth dying for.

This poem appears in The Frequency of Whispers,

a published collection of Ben Koch’s poetry.


About bensten

Teacher, writer, blogger and spiritual practitioner. Managing editor of

2 responses »

  1. bensten says:

    Hey, hit away! I’ll take them anywhere… 🙂

  2. melaniea73 says:

    This is my very favorite of yours on here. I’ve re-read it several times, and again today when it decided to be Spring. Sorry for messing with your hit-meter 🙂

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