a long time ago

i used to attempt poetry writing. i say “used to” and “attempt” because i have long since admitted defeat. i can’t do real poetry writing justice. what i have held onto since those days, now nearly a decade past, is my love of words. i love the way they wear their autobiographies, so cleverly disguised.

i found among my old papers a few messy little ditties. emotionally overwrought as befits their youthful authorship. but so very earnest. these have not been shared for quite some time.

poem 1: this was written after seeing a friend after a long summer and being witness to his heartbreak.  it is influenced by bishopsexton, and larkin. this was published in the Circus (2005).

 

Love in a harbor at midnight

The sloop at dock rests its inverted arch
in the trough of the saltwater harbor.
At midnight, unawares.

And this is Love.
This harbor, that dock:
This night, that filmy
white frock—

worn so careless and open,
all collarbone and shoulder blade.

 

poem 2: this was written for my grandmother shortly after her passing in 2008. this is influenced by sexton, stevens, and dickinson.

 

Untitled

In another country I die
listening to the sounds of your sleep,
your rattling breath, a slow drum
beating its slow beat.

Night presses on, swift and inexorable
I wait here in silence unbearable.

 

 

One Comment

  1. Wesley Culbertson September 20, 2012 at 9:32 am #

    Very useful blog. Keep up the good work.

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