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The Web Poetry Corner

Steven R. Van Hook


Santa Barbara, CA, US

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Steve is the former television bureau chief based in Moscow.

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Steven R. Van Hook

Whose woods are these I think I know
What fence that claims who owns the land
That rich son of rich son of rich son
so says the sign.

Ancient theft bequethed --
A wealth of wounds and souls sucked,
This legacy is.

Dust back to dust
The fleet years
(Land, do you laugh?)
Reclaim with proof of
what owns what.

"Property is theft." -- Karl Marx

A Poem's Plea


Steven R. Van Hook

Please do not love me, a poem;
Words yearning for sense as
Cells consort to make a body whole.

As the apostle loves the prophet,
But discounts the grander God,
As the amorous loves the thigh or nape
While the disconsolate soul sobs alone,
As the fool loves the word
But misses the meant,

Please do not love me, a poem;
Love life!

Notes from the Dead


Steven R. Van Hook

Weep your worthy tears,
poor souls within flesh.

Do you long for something more?
Look at each other!
Is there anything else?

Your desire, your faults,
your weakness, your woes;
Ha! Angels laugh aloud.

Huddle together in terror
of the void,
But your company keeps you
from us.

Come alone, we'll welcome,
but leave the world behind.

Heaven is for the pure.