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Mud Ajar

In its very speak of twigs, with all of its flies over pies, and for its every rake on a shoulder...here's a rucksack of poem adventures!

 

Indeed, in its wonder of poems - many that hike across the page - Mud Ajar is wise beyond its years. Even more, the book is an unaccustomed lark, a luster. Yes surely, a bluebird of handsome.

 

What Hiram Larew offers in this fifth collection is a grateful glisten of poems. Many were written as outdoor rambles during the 2020-21 pandemic. Others look back over a shoulder at what seems long ago. And some are simply puddles of ponder. But above and beyond all of that, with eyes that love sound and hearts that gleam, Larew's Mud Ajar is an opening that's not meant to end.

When I speak twig

above me

the sounds are unimaginable

Each swollen bud laces its shoes

and those earwigs their pinches

squeak out to my growing

gold days

They grab my damp hear in-waiting…

— from In-Waiting

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