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About this poet

Samuel Amadon is the author of The Hartford Book (Cleveland State University Poetry Center, 2012). He teaches at the University of South Carolina and lives in Columbia, South Carolina

Without Discussion

What people said, what left the table dark.
None stayed inside the house, nor close around.
Each direction its direction bound.
Like when you leave the arcing thing to arc.
Like papers gather papers in the park.
We note the wind is what can't hold the ground.
While hearing transfer stations fill with sound.
And let the city alter a remark
a little further from explaining what
was meant. A creak again or just a creak
right then. Like leaning forward on the cart.
A structure falls to stay its every strut.
I'd like to speak. I said I'd like to speak.
And someone sighs, they broke the silent part.

Copyright © 2011 by Samuel Amadon. Used with permission of the author.

Copyright © 2011 by Samuel Amadon. Used with permission of the author.

Samuel Amadon

Samuel Amadon

Samuel Amadon is the author of The Hartford Book (Cleveland State University Poetry Center, 2012).

by this poet

poem

Imagine apple orchards without trees
was not a dream. How do you make make do?
Some conversations lead to more like few.
Like thoughtful absence, yes. Then fingers keys.
Like turning eavesdrop into speech with please
excuse, at times I find the self see-through.
Here one who captions

poem

I think I think of what I want en masse,
as concrete thinks it wants the overpass—

while wind and broken glass want heavy rains,
Los Angeles I want across the plains.

I hear myself collecting what I’ve caught,
like “in the hospital and you’ve been shot.”

As time so

poem

A dance professor around
her white house, which
windowed, countered,
surfaced with keys, bags,

a listing a broker found
he was proud to sell.
As grass is covered
with grass that’s mown,

why not be happy again
to find your schedule in
your hand, and all