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See YouTube video of Janet Kuypers reading her poems “Death takes many forms. (Concrete Mist edition)” and “Our Color, Our Gender, our Creed” from the recently-released Concrete Mist Press Anthology, followed by her cc&d 4/20 v296 Amazon book “Aesthetic” poem “Knowing Panic Becomes a Picnic”, at the beginning of the “Poetic License open mic 4/5/20 home edition” she hosted in Austin, but globally through a Facebook event page (rom a Panasonic Lumix 2500 camera; posted on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram and Tumblr).

See Facebook live video of Janet Kuypers reading her poems “Death takes many forms. (Concrete Mist edition)” and “Our Color, Our Gender, our Creed” from the recently-released Concrete Mist Press Anthology, followed by her cc&d 4/20 v296 Amazon book “Aesthetic” poem “Knowing Panic Becomes a Picnic”, at the beginning of the “Poetic License open mic 4/5/20 home edition” she hosted in Austin, but globally through a Facebook event page (from a Samsung S9 camera).

Enjoy this YouTube video of Janet Kuypers reading her poem “Death takes many forms. (Concrete Mist edition)” from the Down in the Dirt 9-12/23 collection book “Instant Karma” to close her “Poetic License 4/7/24 global open mic” through a Zoom meeting and a Facebook event page (this video was filmed from a Panasonic Lumix 2500 camera; posted on Facebook, Twitter, Linkedin, Pinterest, Instagram, and Tumblr). Also enjoy this as a Facebook live video stream filmed & streamed from a Samsung S9 camera with a Charcoal filter; posted on Facebook, Twitter, Linkedin, Instagram, and Tumblr. #janetkuypers #janetkuyperspoem #janetkuypersbookreading #janetkuyperspoeticlicense

Death takes many forms. (Concrete Mist edition) Janet Kuypers edited from the 1998 poem “Death takes many forms.” for a 2020 anthology release It is winter now. The trees have lost their leaves; the city is covered in a thin layer of soot and snow. The grass is dead. In the sunless sky black birds circle overhead searching for prey. An eerie cold settles over everything. Nothing is growing anymore. Death takes many forms. For you, death first came when you were five years old and your mother had to give you three shots of insulin a day until you could take a needle to yourself. Did it hurt to push that needle into your arm, the first time? Or did it hurt you more to know you had no choice? Death takes many forms. Death can be someone telling you without trying that they are losing their sight. Behind coke-bottle glasses you would see me and say, “That’s a nice black suit you’re wearing.” And I would tell you, “It’s green.” And you wouldn’t believe me. You wouldn’t hear the howling wind of the changing seasons. Death takes many forms. I know what follows the autumn wind. It is winter now. Do you remember when it happened? The changes are subtle, the temperature drops, first only slightly. It’s almost imperceptible. Only when the first snow falls do you realize where the seasons have gone. Death takes many forms. Death can be a sweat-soaked shirt, the shakes, dizziness when you needed food. You would look as pale as a ghost as I would hold your cold wet arm and steady you. Quick, some sugar will make everything better. Isn’t everything better yet? Death takes many forms. The signs of death can come when you lose your circulation. “My feet are numb,” you’d say. “I can’t feel my feet anymore.” And I would rub your feet for you, and you would say it makes a difference, you feel better. If only I could do this forever. Death takes many forms. I said good bye to you to travel my own road but I didn’t think it was the last good bye. When I left, I knew you didn’t want me to go. And now it’s my turn. Why are we always saying good bye to each other? Are you trying to teach me a lesson? Because if you are, well, I’ve learned it. Trust me, I have. You can come back now. Death takes many forms. And now, now it seems you’ve taken me down with you you’ve taken me into that casket with you and I’m running my hand along your jacket lapel and I can feel the coldness of winter all around me and I can hear them shoveling the dirt over my head and I want to get out and I want to take you with me. You once showed me that winter could be beautiful. Instead of the dark and dirty snow lacing the city streets you showed me a quieting snowfall, over a lake at your parent’s back yard glistening in an untouched whiteness. I told you I hated winters and you told me, “This you don’t hate.” Well, I’m still learning. It is winter now. And death takes many forms. The seasons change for you and I. It is snowing. And something is ending. It is snowing. Somewhere it is snowing.

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