Today Peter Bushyeager posted the following on the Keen NYC Poetry Events Facebook page:

Barbara Henning is a wonderful poet who deftly combines dailiness with material from the media. She has a great ear and a sharp eye as she weaves seemingly disparate elements into resonant poems. Her most recent book, “A Day Like Today”, from Negative Capability Press, is one of my favorites. She’s currently working on a new manuscript titled “Digi-grams”. Here are two poems from this in-process work.

Apr 2, 2016

—out the back window—a flowering pear—little white buds—each morning—9.5 million people—turn on their showers—I pack my boots into the closet—outside a nearly nude woman—with a giant purple bouffant— Benjamin Franklin used to—stand naked in front of—his window—a cold-air bath—I flip open my blinds—a rear window neighbor—is shaving—out to meet—Dennis and Phyllis—at Mogador—a plate of black olives—to be in love—with a flower, an olive, an idea—on 7th Street—thunder rumbling—the sound of rain on pavement—turn off the lights—lie in bed in the dark—and listen—my arms crossed over my bare chest—the child I was—am now—Mama and Daddy—I say out loud—

Aug 1, 2016.

—truth and lies viral—rampant hatred—an American man dumps—boiling water—on two sleeping men—a curfew to quell rioting—after a police shooting—if only—as simple as—a belief—in ancestors—in Madagascar—not a good idea—to wear red—at the waterfront—you may incite—an ancestor’s wrath—naked under a sheet at 1 a.m.— in Marquette Michigan—the night so quiet—the trees  still—no movement—a  slight ringing—in the air—we can squash Mr. Bully—we can we can—dear mother—dear grandmother—please—send qi—outside a high pitched ringing—between the rising of wind—and a chorus of crickets—all other animals—in this house—are sound asleep—