Rich Ferguson
Pushcart-nominated poet Rich Ferguson has shared the stage with Patti Smith, Wanda Coleman, Moby, and other esteemed artists. He is a featured performer in the film What About Me? featuring Michael Stipe, k.d. lang, and others. His poetry has been widely published, and his spoken word videos have appeared in international film festivals. He is the author of two poetry collections and the novel, New Jersey Me (Rare Bird Books). Ferguson is the lead editor of an anthology of CA poets entitled Beat Not Beat, and his third poetry collection, Somewhere, a Playground, will be released by Moon Tide Press in October of this year.
Pushcart-nominated poet Rich Ferguson has shared the stage with Patti Smith, Wanda Coleman, Moby, and other esteemed artists. He is a featured performer in the film What About Me? featuring Michael Stipe, k.d. lang, and others. His poetry has been widely published, and his spoken word videos have appeared in international film festivals. He is the author of two poetry collections and the novel, New Jersey Me (Rare Bird Books). Ferguson is the lead editor of an anthology of CA poets entitled Beat Not Beat, and his third poetry collection, Somewhere, a Playground, will be released by Moon Tide Press in October of this year.
Somewhere,
a Playground
after Danez Smith
When bullets grew wings that day
and flew through school,
we thought it was the sound
of hammers falling.
Bad day to be a child,
printing upper and lowercase letters,
learning the cycles of the sun and moon,
and how to take turns.
Addition meant putting things together,
subtraction taking them away.
Bullet plus body equals blood.
Body minus blood equals gone.
But don’t call us ghosts.
Don’t think of our bodies in tiny caskets
with stuffed unicorns and plush puppies
forever unnamed.
Color us alive,
where bullets don’t fly,
a playground filled
with monkey bar love,
children crisscross applesauce
beneath a tree,
breaking into pieces the words
of this big world,
sounding them out.
after Danez Smith
When bullets grew wings that day
and flew through school,
we thought it was the sound
of hammers falling.
Bad day to be a child,
printing upper and lowercase letters,
learning the cycles of the sun and moon,
and how to take turns.
Addition meant putting things together,
subtraction taking them away.
Bullet plus body equals blood.
Body minus blood equals gone.
But don’t call us ghosts.
Don’t think of our bodies in tiny caskets
with stuffed unicorns and plush puppies
forever unnamed.
Color us alive,
where bullets don’t fly,
a playground filled
with monkey bar love,
children crisscross applesauce
beneath a tree,
breaking into pieces the words
of this big world,
sounding them out.
© 2025 Rich Ferguson
Rich Ferguson was a Featured Poet at the September 2025 Second Sunday Poetry Series
Rich Ferguson was a Featured Poet at the September 2025 Second Sunday Poetry Series