Tom Lagasse’s poetry captures the quiet intensity of everyday life, blending reflection with emotional depth. His verses often explore themes of memory, loss, resilience, and the passage of time, while grounding abstract feelings in vivid, concrete imagery. Lagasse writes with a contemplative voice that invites readers to pause and reflect on their own experiences, creating a bridge between personal and universal truths. His style balances simplicity and elegance, making his work accessible yet layered with meaning. Through subtle rhythms and heartfelt observations, his poetry resonates as both intimate and timeless, leaving a lasting impression on the reader.Today we will read his five poems.
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| Tom Lagasse |
Late Capitalism
The lawn grows untamed, teeming with clover,
which makes the bees happy. Along the border,
blackberry bramble continues its coup d’tat and will
house sparrows seeking a home. With silken wings,
Dragonflies pause on the garden stakes. In this heat,
the chipmunks, like squatters, hide beneath the porch
for relief. Beneath a corner of retreating shade, I unfold
a chair on the cracked cement patio. The distant
grumble of delivery trucks and the whine of lawn service
mowers swirl, recede into the horizon, I sit, staring into
the ruins, jot a few lines, and sip ice-cold lemonade.
Once, a man would have called this idleness or laziness.
Now it is treason.
Non-Protest Protest
With good reason my countrymen pollinate the streets.
Someone with a blow horn will speak of corruption
and cruelty as the throng raises its voice in support.
At home I quietly tend to an overgrown garden,
a democratic tangle of asters and goldenrod,
a rough quilt of gold and periwinkle.
Here, there is no buzz, where one once existed,
only an above average heat. Wars are fought
on many fronts. The enemy is always the same.
Freedom
The homeless man wearing a tattered army
Jacket rides an old-time bicycle and weaves
down road raining dogwood blossoms.
We watch this moment of joie-de-vivre, his
freedom of movement with envy, although
we may have projected more freedom than he owns.
In the garage, our bicycles lean against the far wall.
Their flat tires ride against the rims. The to-do list
of what needs to be accomplished before we can
patch them will take us to the day we die.
Sunrise
The sun rises each morning,
although it is never
seen equally.
Some must part
the curtains of smog
or dust from the bombs,
Where ash, the remains
of loved ones
fall from the sky.
En Plein Air
Believing paint to be breath, like a god animating
all things, he experienced waves of color. Layer
after layer of creation crashed upon his wide-eyes,
And broke open the reserve he believed he needed
to exist in this world when all he wanted was
to return intensity to the mundane, the ignored:
the sun and clouds becoming shadow on the hillside;
the poor, like Van Gogh’s crows, scouring the garbage
for something usable. Grace and heartache.
He dipped his brush into the pulsing Cerulean Blue,
Permanent Rose, and Chrome Yellow. How quickly
the light changes and the difficult task of capturing it.
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| Tom Lagasse |
Tom’s poetry has appeared in numerous publications and anthologies. In January, he received the 2025 E. Ethelbert Miller Poetry Prize. He was a 2024 Artist in Residence at the Edwin Way Teale House at Trail Wood. He currently serves as the Poet Laureate of Bristol, CT.
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