Gene Twaronite's Blog

The Bathers, William Adolphe Bouguereau, 1884

The Art Institute of Chicago

Ignore for a moment
the sight of two
curvaceous young ladies
skinny dipping
at the beach.
Concentrate
on the left foot of one
as she shifts her weight
and turns to the left,
how its flattened arch
is so firmly planted
in the sand
you think it will bear
all the burden
women have had to face
since booted out of the garden
in disgrace
by a god created
in the image
of man.

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Lacking a car, I often ride the bus out of necessity. But if you keep your eyes and heart open, a bus ride can help you see your fellow travelers in a new light.

Once in a while, if you are lucky, you’ll encounter a poem that will take you to an enchanted place where words can do anything and for a brief time the outside world is held in suspension. I just read this poem by Sandra Beasley and have still not come back to earth. Thank you, Sandra! Here is the link (Be sure to listen to the recording). You will never look at a capybara or a measuring cup, for that matter, in the same way. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/52653/unit-of-measure

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Everyone in me is a bird.
Wounded with fierce desire and worn with strife,
she survives all man has done.
The eye of a little god, four cornered.
The bird’s fire-fangled feathers dangle down.

We wear the mask that grins and lies.
I thought that love would last forever, I was wrong.
Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike.
I hate them as I hate sex.
I weary for desires never guessed.

I wish I had a river that I could skate away on.
There are moments that cry out to be fulfilled.
This is the beginning.
Life doesn’t frighten me at all.
I am the master of my fate.

These hips are big hips,
they shake the mountains when they dance.
When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple.
We are, I am, you are.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre.

With lines (in order of appearance) by Anne Sexton, Sarojini Naidu, John Trudell, Sylvia Plath, Wallace Stevens, Paul Laurence Dunbar, W.H. Auden, Edna St, Vincent Millay, Louise Glück, Amy Lowell, Joni Mitchell, Mary Oliver, Billy Collins, Maya Angelou, William Ernest Henley, Lucille Clifton, E.E. Cummings, Jenny Joseph, Adrienne Rich, and W.B. Yeats

First published in Ginosko Literary Journal Issue 34 (see page 126) https://ginoskoliteraryjournal.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/09/Ginosko-Literary-Journal-34.pdf

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Hi All,

My poem “Telescope” (a limerick, actually, inspired by a quote from Alice in Wonderland) was just published in the latest issue of NewMyths. In the same issue, they also included from their archives my poem “The Yellow Snake,” inspired by the snake in The Little Prince. You can read both of them here:

https://sites.google.com/newmyths.com/newmyths-com-issue-72/issue-72-stories/telescope

https://sites.google.com/newmyths.com/newmythscomarchive/poems/the-yellow-snake

You can also read below a Spotlight from NewMyths about these poems and what led me to write them:

The poetic pick from our archives is from Issue 49, December 2020. We asked Gene to give us a little insight into the poem and, because this current issue includes his poem  “Telescope,” to talk about what led him to write poems based on these two literary classics.

 I’m an incurable bibliophile and my library shelves are filled with classics of sci-fi & fantasy as well as other genres. They are called classics for a reason, mainly because they illustrate notable standards of excellence for all time. The only books I own these days are those that I will reread multiple times. And each time I revisit the book, there’s always going to be stuff I’ve forgotten or some new little thing I missed completely the first time. It almost seems like I’m experiencing the book for the first time (one of the few benefits of growing older, I guess). And quite often there will be something that will inspire a new poem. The Little Prince is one of those stories that gets better and better with each rereading.

One of the things readers will notice about my poem “The Yellow Snake” is that the ending challenges the prevailing narrative about what really happened to the Little Prince. The assumption is that the snake actually bit and killed him. But I always found the ending somewhat ambiguous, only hinting that the snake actually bit him. And Saint-Exupéry has the pilot admit that the Little Prince’s body was never found. It was like the author was messing a bit with the heads of his readers. So I decided to mess a little with what actually happened and not have the snake bite him. I focused instead on how the pilot and the snake told each other a story. And the Little Prince’s story was so powerful that it transported him all the way home to his beloved planetoid and one silly rose. In a very real sense, a story can take us further than a ship, to paraphrase the author.

This story also appeared in my collection of sci-fi & fantasy poems, What the Gargoyle Sees, published by Kelsay Books ( https://kelsaybooks.com/products/what-the-gargoyle-sees ).

Also available at Amazon ( https://www.amazon.com/What-Gargoyle-Sees-Gene-Twaronite/dp/1952326869 )

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As I read the headlines, I was reminded of this little poem from my collection Shopping Cart Dreams (Kelsay Books). I think it speaks to what is happening to our so-called democracy right now. https://kelsaybooks.com/products/shopping-cart-dreams

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I write a poem and wonder
will anyone read and remember it,
and why I should care
when I won’t be there
to hear it sung.

I cannot promise it a long life.
The only thing I can do is
breathe into it
all the truth that is in me
so it can live on its own.

Or I could just forget it
and not mourn for
words unheard.
But for now I will
sing to it every day.

First published in Merion West (https://www.merionwest.com/tag/poetry/)

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Your perfect leaves
shine back at me
as if freshly washed
by a spring rain
and make me
want to believe
in you
to touch your skin
and feel the pulse
of your artful
unblemished life
on display
in a tidy white pot
you will never outgrow
I do believe
you would thrive
in my sunless bathroom—
a perpetual plant
who never needs
watering or fussing
and would not care
if I live or die

First published in ONE ART: a journal of poetry https://oneartpoetry.com/2025/05/20/ode-to-a-fake-plant-by-gene-twaronite/

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