Ever the Fallen by David J. Thompson --winner of Nerve Cowboy chapbook contest.
--lots of poems that seem to come from daydreams about literary figures.
--humor that is dry, almost angry.
--lots of hope for "getting laid."
--no pretension; why poetry like this isn't provided and presented more often surprises me. Some of this is not great art, but it isn't because of language or subject matter, but because they do not seem to say anything beyond the surface. But maybe that isn't fair to say. Of course, I don't expect a "message" or even insight. Maybe these poems, like Seinfeld, leave us with observations that need no comment. Maybe nothing needs to be said, and therein lies the art.
The Branch Will Not Break by James Wright (1963)
--called a "Groundbreaking Book" on Poets.org.
--mostly Ohio setting--neither hope nor despair --lots of horses in this book-don't know why, but the horses seem to be content where ever--little joy, little sadness; strong, constant waiting.
Yet he was beautiful, he was the snowfall
Turned to white stallions still
Under dark elm trees
("Two Poems About President Harding")
gallop terribly against each other's bodies
("Autumn Begins in Martins Ferry, Ohio")
-- some political poems lose me because I am unfamiliar with the context-the loss is mine, not the poet's.

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