BOOKS OF POETRY
Publications & works in progress given first - unpublished manuscripts at the end of the page
from BkMk Press, University of Missouri at Kansas City
The Other Side - 1973
Before the Light - 1987
from Xlibris
The Ghosts – Notes from a Field Study - 2009
Songs from Walnut Canyon - 2010
Grand Canyon Days - 2011
Searching for Mr. Stevens - 2011 (review in The Wallace Stevens Journal, here)
Structure of the Body - 2012
First Kingdoms – Poems from a Vanishing Landscape - 2012
Vermeer in Words - 2013
Postcards from Paradise – A Tucson Spring - 2013
New Mexico Notebook – Late Summer in the Mountains - 2014
Time after Time – A Novel in Verse - 2014
50 Years - Poems for My Wife - 2017
Out of the Gate - Selected Early Poems 1960 - 1970 - 2017
Interrogations - Poems Posing Questions - 2021
from Stephen F. Austin State University Press
The Ratlue Diaries - Two Poets & the Rocking K Wars in Tucson AZ - 2017
(prose & a few poems)
WORKS IN PROGRESS
Poet in Cow Town - My Kansas City Years
Poet in City Hall - My St. Louis Years
Poet in Sonora - My Tucson Years
On the Wall and On the Page - poems on paintings, sculpture, & photographs
Inquiries - Poems Posing Questions
Cosmic Questions - Poems in Our Galactic Moment
Mortality and Other Hassles
In the Company of Animals - Poems & Prose on the Path to a Peaceable Kingdom
- for more information, excerpts, & links for ordering, please scroll down
THE OTHER SIDE
Poetry: Morphology
It is nothing
yet - a lull,
a buzz of potential.
Warm in pale green
fluid it floats,
amorphous, without age.
Then the green
swirls and foams
flings it up, out
into a stinging blue
dazzle and sharp
immobile lines.
The sea gushes.
Stuck in the rocks
something wants breath.
Now it crawls across the sand
and aches with metamorphosis
already acquiring contours
and a steady pulse.
BEFORE THE LIGHT
Three narrative poems: The Classic, The Killing, Before the Light BkMk Press, U Missouri at Kansas City, 1987 - hardcover, 47 pages A dark world is explored in these sequences on: 1) a "snuff" film; 2) the murder of a mentally retarded son by his father; 3) and the making of the atomic bomb as perceived by the wife of one of the secretive scientists at Los Alamos. copies available from author; use email icon top of this page |
from The Classic
Moving Pictures
The projector whirrs on
the sound track sounds
the images live, defy
common sense again, just as
that first proof did:
the racehorse stepping, stepping
all four feet at once up
sailing over the ground.
You don't see rehearsal.
You don't see technology
or culture unreeling.
You see yourself larger,
simplified. You see time
compressed, understandable.
There in the
crowded dark you love it.
You don't care
what the story is.
from Before the Light
Aurora
Aurora
over mountains
warms the plateau
spills slow
down the canyon:
black rock
crumbles, frosted grass
shifts, pinon, Ponderosa
grow and hear
the creek speaking
against pebble and ice.
If
anyone is here
they know the light
is coming
up the canyon,
know they will see
one more time
the cold gold explosion
in the cottonwoods.
- Bandelier, New Mexico
October, 1983
THE GHOSTS - Notes From a Field Study
poems Xlibris, 2009 - softcover, 99 pages cover & interior photos: Judith Lauter order from Xlibris: softcover - or ebook Is an anthropology of ghosts possible (or even desirable)? What would it be like? The Ghosts offers ironic and richly imaginative answers to such questions, taking us to a country both familiar and exotic, disturbing and yet often strangely reassuring. The book asks whether ghosts may not be so different from us, nor as removed from the earth and earthly concerns as we would like to think. |
Their Origins
The evidence clearly suggests
they came from the stars.
Just how and when may
never be known -- no more
than we may know which
of our body's molecules
came from our sun and which
from somewhere else entirely.
SONGS FROM WALNUT CANYON
poems Xlibris, 2010 - softcover, 83 pages order from Xlibris: softcover - or ebook Songs from Walnut Canyon brings the reader into a world of natural beauty, geological wonder, history, and myth. Many composed in the canyon near Flagstaff AZ, these poems are songs of the present that evoke songs past - in the daily lives and music of those who once inhabited the canyon, and in the voices of Crow, the Corn God, Flute Player, and Last Singer. Walnut Canyon is an extraordinary place. This books attempts both to honor that fact and to suggest why it is. |
Last Singer
(1200 A.D.)
I am the last
I will stay
here
sit in the sun --
white rock
gray rock
blue sky
silver wind
canyon song
rising.
GRAND CANYON DAYS
poems Xlibris, 2011 - softcover, 87 pages order from Xlibris: softcover - or ebook Grand Canyon Days explores one of the world's greatest geological wonders-- its past and present, its rock, waters, plants, and animals. The book spans fifty years of the author's life and reflects our current national identity and the Canyon's lingering sense of myth from earlier eras. Along the way, we meet John Wesley Powell, ancient canyon residents, and a couple of ordinary American tourists. The book takes us into a deep place and deep thoughts about the social, environmental, and spiritual legacy of canyons. |
Canyon Dawn
Through frigid hours, from uncountable
stars uncountable light years distant, pale
photons rain all night into the canyon.
Finally, from the east, our own star rises
above the white curve of Kaibab limestone,
its light pouring over the plains to flood
down the crumbling esplanade, splashing
out over Tonto Platform peninsula,
pausing at the rim of the inner gorge
and cascading down to the river whispering
in its dark Precambrian channel. The light
grows stronger. Dry heat climbs the walls.
Ahead is another day of hikers, copters,
and noise. Above the heat, beyond the blue,
the stars burn on - bringing other dawns.
SEARCHING FOR MR. STEVENS
poems, (with one by Judith Lauter) Xlibris, 201 - softcover, 101 pages order from Xlibris: softcover - or ebook Searching for Mr. Stevens probes the art and mind of the brilliant, enigmatic Wallace Stevens. An unique figure in 20th century letters, and possibly the only American poet to have a "Friends and Enemies Society" named for him, Stevens wrote some of the most haunting verse in the English language -- as well as some of the most maddeningly obscure. His paradoxical personal and professional life has come to loom almost as large as his poetic achievement, and this book looks at all these elements. Lover of Stevens will find here fresh angles from which to explore this dazzling American Master. Review: J. Finnegan (2013), The Wallace Stevens Journal 37(2): 251-253. |
Relative Seasons
Winter depends on your exact spot
on the earth -- a few degrees
of sun-angle changes everything.
Wallace Stevens, for instance,
took winter right between the eyes
every time, as if there were only
Connecticut on the one hand
and on the other, Florida.
There are other locations. There is,
for instance, Oklahoma, where
I write another season, noticing
how in December the grass
under snow around blackjack oaks
inspires voluptuous
coronas of green.
Winter depends on your exact spot
on the earth -- a few degrees
of sun-angle changes everything.
Wallace Stevens, for instance,
took winter right between the eyes
every time, as if there were only
Connecticut on the one hand
and on the other, Florida.
There are other locations. There is,
for instance, Oklahoma, where
I write another season, noticing
how in December the grass
under snow around blackjack oaks
inspires voluptuous
coronas of green.
THE STRUCTURE OF THE BODY
poems, (with three by Judith Lauter) Xlibris, 2012 - softcover,134 pages order from Xlibris: softcover - or ebook A poetic survey from many perspectives, The Structure of the Body examines the human form as an anatomical and physiological system and as a metaphor for other dimensions of our lives. The book covers the body's evolution, its vast array of organs, its role in our mental and emotional life, and its complex interface with birth and death. These poems open fresh vistas on a familiar yet always mysterious subject. |
The Life of the Body
The fluoroscope shows us
as a halo -- only the bones
last a while -- but before
we shrug it off
like a robe
and step out of time
into senseless forever
we must do the beast
homage: keep every cell
well fed, give all
the playful parts lots
of play, and try not
to cry in front of
your wrinkles -- they are
so shy that they can
turn evil easily and burn
into the real florescence:
the you beyond all scope.
FIRST KINGDOMS - Poems from a Vanishing Landscape
poems Xlibris, 2012 - softcover, 113 pages order from Xlibris: softcover - or ebook Like Blake's Songs of Innocence and Experience these poems evoke childhood moments -- from the dreamlike states of infancy to the exhilaration of nature, animals, games, school, sex, and the early discoveries of love. Such elusive memories are screened through the double lens of a boy's innocence and an adult's more complex awareness. In the poet's personal history, First Kingdoms records and celebrates a type of childhood less and less known to today's digitally-obsessed generations. |
Baby
In your first
six months--
they tell you this
much later--
you love
living warm
on the breast
you are such
a good baby
you sleep
all night, don't
cry much, pee
once in father's face
and they all
laugh and laugh -
all this
baby devotion
not very long
after the Japs
zapped Pearl Harbor.
VERMEER IN WORDS
poems (including one by Judith Lauter) Xlibris, 2013 - softcover, 106 pages (8.5" x 11") 25 Vermeer paintings order from Xlibris: softcover - or ebook Vermeer in Words explores the inner workings of the Dutch master's exquisite paintings, articulating their aesthetic principles and revealing some of their deeper intimations. For context, the poems and paintings are interleaved with short passages describing 17th century Dutch history, art, and society. What emerges is a celebration of Vermeer's unique gifts while plumbing his personal predicament, values, and artistic achievements. Vermeer lovers will find the book a uniquely rewarding experience. |
Vermeer in Miniature
Born the second child
of Reynier Janzoon Vos
and Digna Baltens
not long after the Spaniards
stopped their slaughtering
and burning, you
never even considered
leaving Delft. You were
painting hard when Holland
turned Protestant and you
turned Catholic, mainly
to marry Catharina Bolnes
and make fifteen babies -
four dying young, while
you painted slowly, every day,
each fleck of pigment
as precious to you
as the spermatozoa
and red blood cells
van Leeuwenhoek saw
swimming under his fine lenses.
When you died penniless,
Catharina hired him as an agent
to sell off all your paintings.
POSTCARDS FROM PARADISE - A Tucson Spring
poems Xlibris, 2013 - softcover, 84 pages order from Xlibris: softcover - or ebook Postcards from Paradise - a Tucson Spring is the poetic diary of a 6-week visit to Tucson, Arizona, by a couple in their 47th year together, as they return to the city where they were married and lived for a total of ten years, first in the 1960s and again in the 1980s. Their current impressions are layered over their earlier memories of "The Old Pueblo" and the surrounding Sonoran desert which they once regarded as a kind of paradise. |
Sonora: Summer, August 1966
Heatpools spread
like molten glass.
The sun rules
rock and saguaro.
The Gila monster
sleeps.
Tuscon
is a mirage -- you
are a mirage.
Cicadas
blaze away
another century.
NEW MEXICO NOTEBOOK - Late Summer in the Mountains
Xlibris, 2014 - softcover, 53 pages order from Xlibris: softcover - or ebook New Mexico Notebook - Late Summer in the Mountains is a road-trip journal and meditation on mountains as the source of cool air in summer, geological wonder, and spiritual regeneration. The poems reflect day-to-day life, both public and private, in a way that invests them with a strong sense of the wider reality of 21st century America. |
Dozing in the Car on the Way to New Mexico
Out past Amarillo, the horizon
slides away under gray clouds.
The rain comes and goes, comes
and goes. I sleep deep.
Later, I read aloud a chapter from
Keneally's Woman of the Inner Sea:
Kate has lost her children, lost her
cheating, criminal spouse
and her lover, the dynamiter Jelly,
and now, after the flood, takes off
for god knows where. Our Kate
is desolate but brave enough
to endure "loss after loss." I doze.
When I wake, the rain has stopped,
the skies have cleared: New Mexico
shines in blue distances, all the way
to Angel Fire, where we will walk
together - in clear metaphysical air.
TIME AFTER TIME - A Novel in Verse
poems Xlibris, 2014 - softcover, 79 pages 10 images by permission Penn. Bureau of Mining and Reclamation order from Xlibris - softcover or ebook What is time? That haunting question is pondered by everyone who lives long enough to see its effects at work around them. In this verse novel, the concept of time is tracked across decades in the life of one unfortunate but extraordinary woman. The tale unfolds in a coal-mining community in Pennsylvania, a cruelly decisive context for her and everyone around her. Time after Time is a record of the most intimate yet mysterious force any of us ever encounters. |
Sarah's Revelation - I
You will find
everything
upstairs, wrapped
in newspapers.
By the time
you read this
I'll be
gone to dust,
I suppose.
Where
they went
I have no idea.

poems
Xlibris, 2017 - softcover, 288 pages
71 photos, half by Judith Lauter
order from Xlibris - softcover or ebook
The poetic diary of a marriage lasting half a century, this collection
sketches out the life and times of Ken and Judith Lauter. They met in 1965
in a poetry-writing seminar taught by Donald Hall (US Poet Laureate,
2006-07) at the University of Michigan, where they both won Hopwood
Awards for poetry. They have subsequently lived in Tucson, Denver,
St. Louis, Oklahoma City, and their current home, Nacogdoches, Texas.
At Last
At last, my love has come along
- Etta James
She sat halfway down the table,
brown hair, honey tan, white blouse,
eyes down, while Donald Hall
spoke of image, meter, metaphor.
(He and Hall appreciated her
in every way they could.) You must
get to know her! he thought--
Would Hall help? Grinning,
Hall did and he did— at last, at last.
Why Did We Last?
Was it merely genetic,
an evolutionary accident
that braided our minds
and hearts together like
the DNA double helix?
Was it cultural, a middle-
class scent as strong
as some musky perfume?
We were both so lonely
in the sad way that only
the smart kids are, knowing
the chances of finding
another one were slim.
Yet we found something
in our faces, bodies, touch
and look, that would prove
indispensable, as much
as our love of language,
the music of poetry heard
deep, deep in the inmost ear.
A Marriage Vessel
We have taken our lives into our own
hands— like potters spinning clay,
wet and smooth-grained, yielding
to skilled fingers and the control
of mind— or, in our case
the union of two true minds
who have shaped a life together
across spinning time for
five decades. What we crafted
is not flawless, not fired to some
exotic glaze— but it has found
its own form, its loving function.

prose & poems
Stephen F Austin State University Press, 2017 - softcover, 88 pages
10 photos, six by Judith Lauter
order from Texas Book Consortium
A fictionalized memoir about an environmental battle, this book records a
five-year struggle to prevent the urbanization of the beautiful Rincon
Valley in Tucson. Told in poetry and prose by two poets, one of whom is
the author's alter ego, these characters become embroiled in the Rocking
K War (named after an old cattle ranch in the valley). The book has the
hair-on-fire gonzo-journalism style of Hunter Thompson— satiric, profane,
rapid-fire, and filled with righteous anger and despair. The poems
alternate between political diatribes and lyrics celebrating the harsh
beauty of the Sonoran Desert.
Prelude - Bad News in Paradise (excerpts)
On a late May Saturday morning, cool breezes ruffle the curtains of the bedroom window. Floating up from sleep, I hear a mourning dove, calling coo-ooo, coo-ooo. It’s perched in the big palo verde at the front of the house, a male bird making courtship calls before launching himself into a short flight that ends in a sloping glide back to the tree, flaring his white-tipped tail feathers for any female nearby to notice and (he hopes) relish.
Then comes the soft chirring of a Gambel’s quail, a female with several peeping chicks. The bird family is heading to the small cement pool beneath a saguaro just outside our front door. They sip and flutter in the water for five minutes or so before zipping back to the safety of mesquite and prickly pear.I walk out into the desert heat to get the mail— past the saguaro, the little drinking pool, the palo verde hung with pale-gold blossoms. At the roadside, I stop and look around: to the east, the Rincon Mountains and blue-gray Mica Peak; to the north, a mesquite bosque and foothills rolling away, thick with saguaro, rising toward the high distant ridges of the Catalina Mountains.
From the mailbox, I grab a handful of junk mail, bills, a rejection letter from a poetry journal, and a large brown envelope: PIMA COUNTY PLANNING AND ZONING COMMISSION / NOTICE OF REZONING APPLICATION FOR / THE ROCKING K RANCH AND ADJOINING LANDS
The sun suddenly grows hotter, beads of sweat pop out on my brow. Turning back to the house, I hear something strange, almost ghostly— a motorcycle engine. That guttural growl can only be a Harley. I peer up and down the street but see nothing. The motor revs again. I can’t localize it. Is it coming from the north, south, east, or west? It seems to be everywhere and nowhere, almost as if it were inside me— then nothing but the sound of wind across the mesa.
Desert Night
Moonlight
ignites
cactus thorns
bats zig-zag
across
a darkening sky
coyote packs
wail in arroyos
starlight finds
Sonora
and you— here,
home at last.
Power
When Power arrives
he doesn’t bother
trying to look like
Truth, Reason, or Sanity.
When Power speaks
he doesn’t use
a loudspeaker
or an official letter.
He sets a beautiful table
with a silk tablecloth
and then announces
that you are on the menu.
If you don’t want to be
roasted and served up,
leave the table--
go home and write poems.
RATLUE’S LAST DAYS (excerpts)
The last time I saw Ratlue was on a gorgeous spring afternoon. We rode double on his Harley up to Sabino Canyon, parked it under the cottonwoods by one of the pools at the canyon mouth, and walked the rest of the way up. There was no one else in sight.
In those days, before the tourist trams with loudspeakers, Sabino was one of the best places on earth, a nexus of peace and beauty. It was a warm day. Gnats swirled over the bends of the creek. Cottonwoods rustled in the breeze, dropping leaves onto the water. The sun leaked rose and gold down the sheer rock walls.
We walked along silently past the picnic benches and boulders, watching fading light high on the cliffs, listening to the gurgling water. . . Then Rat barked out: Look! It’s a Great Purple Hairstreak! . . . .
Fucking cool, Rat said—so clean, so simple. I’ve tried to write a poem about it for years. They all got burned in the urn.
Maybe this year will be different, I said.
I doubt it, he answered.
Sonora
Cloud-powered summer.
Winter brighter
than your eyes desire.
Wise creatures seek
shade under mesquite.
Sit down there, alone.
Hear your heartbeat,
your breath, and
the small bugle and flutter
of a quail drinking,
and the water sounding
its slow drip, drip, drip.
Copyright Ken Lauter, 2018