A New Nation and other poems

by George Eklund


A New Nation


A woman waits to fill with her own milk;

The practice of the world

Generates its dangerous frolic.


The darkness of violins moves

Up her arms and spine;

Not a trumpet is left.


The sound of brass is lost

In the winter stones

The earth will not release.


The hymns we sang

Ruptured in the winter sun.

Her chemical mind had no fear of time.


She was ready to join a nation

Of strangers where we would be known

And understood.




Before She Was a Planet


A globe enters the dream

And spins rain and missing

Faces wall to wall.


Children form

In a haze of bones.


The heavy breath

Of the blood trees pressing

Upon the glassy lake.


We don’t want to believe in death;

It would mean the end

Of the imagination.


With a catheter slung

Over the back of a sterilized chain

I loved her before she was a planet.






Children climb a blue cliff

Into the fumes of the future.

They show allegiance to no one.


The church organist scratched his nose

And thirsted for a beer.  He had traveled

To many planets


But no one knew.

Why is a nation beautiful to some?

How can a nation feel


Beautiful to itself?

Lovers try to love their dead language

In which they were told


A lot about their lives.  Between rivulets

Moon to moon, people somewhere

Are chanting against


An old wall made of light.




Idioms of Flight


Primary human signs stand in line

For communion

Merging into blue.


A woman stares at the night birds

Circling the head of the priest,

A Schumann symphony dissolving in her head

With that same ringing

That killed the confused composer.


I am on the commuter train

To the prison, bringing my

Declaration of planets to no one,

A rehearsal in two parts day by day.


O micro-world of bricks, dark rooms,

Moving pictures,

Breaking the advertised image

A necessary sport,

A bleeding monument caged in the face.

The hand covers the mouth

And is healed.


Body parts of the helmet men

Dance across the windows;

The rooster loves death.

The circus salutes loud color and gold.




George Eklund is in his 24th year on the writing faculty at Morehead State University.  He has published two full length volumes and four chapbooks.  His latest collection, The Island Blade, has been recently reviewed in The Iowa Review.

His work has appeared in ABZ, The American Poetry Review, Beloit Poetry Journal, Bayou Magazine, Conduit, Crazyhorse, EPOCH, The Iowa Review, The Massachsetts Review, New Ohio Review,  North American Review, Redactions, Sycamore Review, Tinge, Toad, and Willow Springs, among others.

He has a professional site on facebooK:  Poems from Willow Drive.

4 poems george eklund_Painting Carlos Nuñez detail from Tsunami

Painting: Carlos Nuñez - detail from Tsunami





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