Ah, Pennyslvania. The second state (12/12/1787).
I'm still burned up from my Jersey days, when I'd drive to my cousin's house in the Philly suburbs and see this sign: "Welcome to Pennsylvania, America Starts Here." Excuse me? Are you dissin' my home state?
So, Pennsylvania, while I love the smell of chocolate in the air when I'm riding the coasters at Hershey Park, I am *not* surprised at your lack of a poet laureate.
And that whole thing about, "Every poet is our poet laureate?" Not buying it. That's as lazy as not looking out your window and noticing there is a WHOLE STATE between you and the Atlantic Ocean.
Samuel Hazo. Then you booted him. No explanation. No replacement. That's like breaking up with your first boyfriend and deciding to be celibate for the rest of your life.
And what's not to like? Here's a beautiful poem by Samuel Hazo -- former and only Poet Laureate of Pennsylvania. (You're going on my Wall of Shame, PA, you and your road sign.)
TO WAIT AS A WAY OF LIFE
Waiting to act is where
the drama waits.
and it's over.
for the overdoers of this world,
is Hamlet at his truest.
coiled on its coils, is totally
The mountain snow
that keeps its avalanche a secret
threatens the deadliest with white
Never are brides
more beautiful than in their veils.
Sprinters at the starting blocks
with all their muscles primed
and flexed look equally supreme
before defeat or victory
Read the rest of the poem at Poetry Magazine.
Moving on... It's just a short drive to New Jersey
-- my home state. But it's not going to be a
pleasant visit. You thought the housewives
were bad? Get ready for "The Real Poets
of New Jersey."
Until we get there, please visit Book Aunt. She is hosting the
Poetry Friday round-up today.