Poetry Showcase: Ethan McGuire


Yesterday is great,
yet today holds more promise than yesterday.
Tomorrow is uncertain,
but if there is tomorrow,
it is easier to influence than yesterday.

Don't say your days were better, greater.
What future is that?
You look at the past through rose-colored glasses.
Men killed and died in your day just as in mine.
Don't be selfish, trying to make yourself good.
Nothing changes, as to men and angels.
What hope can I find in your nostalgia?


After Bob Dylan and Marcus Aurelius

Time is     a violent river
with     an overwhelming sway,
and anything     which enters there
is brought     to sight and swept away.

Now I lack     the disposition
to re    flect on every mistake.
Like Adam, I    endure the sins
each of     my sins in turn must make.

Like wood chips from     a fallen tree
along     the Struma passing by,
memories drift     throughout my brain
like     a canopy once held high.

I have sacrificed     the youngest men
and     the maidens to my gods;
I have sunk     the saving ships
just     to lower Strymon’s odds.

So I can    not heal the hurting
I     have caused by leaving for here;
I cannot     forgive my own sins,
and     my sorrow is too unclear.


Not long ago,
not often in my mind,
my purpose was left unaccomplished;

come now (I may),
search fields to find
what in my blind moments I missed.


The sun is setting,
the cold is coming,
but the falling sun
shines with glorious radiance.

A day is ending,
a night is nearing,
yet the night, to me,
is nothing to be feared.

My work is over,
my time must answer,
but I do not mourn
because the sun helps show:

To the day-lover,
let no thoughts linger
on shadows of night,
for the sun rises afterward.


Music in my veins,
storytelling on my mind,
I.T. my profession,
my heart ever holds a pen,
I am a Worker Poet.

My mother bore me, and
my parents, they raised me
in the marvelous Ozarks,
yet I moved away to find
my own work, on my own,
finding myself sat upon beaches,
the ivory, shifting, Gulf sands
of the Emerald Coast.

By day, I am an I.T. Technician,
bending my talent to the healthcare field,
making hospitals my home away from home,
much as my father, aunt, and wife do.
By night, I bend myself over desks and write,
scribbling, typing, and thinking.
A Worker Poet, I call myself.

Like a Worker Bee, toiling for family,
I toil as my father and grandfathers taught,
saying, “A man’s worth is measured
by the quality of his labor
beneath Adam’s Curse and a petty sun.”

Warrior Poets of old
philosophized and wrote
of their roles and worlds.
As a Worker Poet, I
intend to do the same.

Bio: Ethan McGuire is a writer and a healthcare cybersecurity professional whose criticism, essays, fiction, and poetry have appeared in Better than Starbucks, The Dispatch, Emerald Coast Review, Fevers of the Mind, and The New Verse News, among other publications. He lives with his wife and their daughter in the Florida Panhandle on the Gulf of Mexico. You can connect with him at TheFlummoxed.com

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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