Lost Cities by Steven Schroeder

Rain remembers every face
it's ever touched, Kohelet, when
it slips unseen to sea, overflows
with rivers of them, lost cities
that rise in clouds sky
cannot contain.


Steven Schroeder, Chicago, USA

epic by Steven Schroeder

Most every time the world ends, it ends

in some imbroglio over noise, too

much, not enough, silent gods fed up

with the clamor downstairs, histrionic

bullies shouting where were you from whirlwinds,

somebody who doesn't like the music,

and forgetting. A bang, a whimper,

the terrible silence of a man

who does not recall his other son,

who makes promises when lightning strikes

or wars begin, who gives up children

because he cannot hold his tongue, because

he will not hold his tongue, because he does

not hold his tongue, because he does. Curses

enough for everyone in this epic,

those who remember, those who forget,

those who will die, those who wish they could.

Steven Schroeder, Chicago, USA

The Amnesia of the Cosmos by Steven Schroeder

She has come in time
to these moments of forgetfulness. Only
yesterday, the whole thing burned
red hot. Now it is cold.
That white chalk feathered
on a background of ice looks so familiar,
and the rattling in the tree, something
stirring that might have been
extinct. She can see her sighs
now, cirrus wisps that grow
heavy, roll into cumulus, cumulonimbus
piled high; and, for the life of her,
she cannot remember how to stop the rain.


Steven Schroeder, Chicago, USA

Heatwave by Steven Schroeder

Cricketsong smells of rain
on the far side of heat this
evening, but it has not broken.

A shadow of a promise,
a kiss of shade diverts us,
takes our minds off sun.


Steven Schroeder, Chicago, USA