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Month: September 2015

The Pet Cockatoo

The Pet Cockatoo

 

The mirror is round and concave.
The task is to remove it from
its ornate frame and bend
the reflection outward
at such an angle that I can
see and others can too.

They’ll see I’ve nothing to hide
and I will too. At night
I’ll merely roll it aside,
put a cover on it like a pet cockatoo
and listen as its song is
sweetly smothered in sleep.

 

 

#### Poet’s Notes ####

If you feel strongly about this poem, leave a comment below!
(I won’t delete rude comments, I’ll just reuse them in a poem — with attribution. ;-))

The image of the initial draft can be seen here:

 

new doc 13_1

 

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Joyce

Joyce

(On reading Ellman’s biography of James Joyce)

 

He couldn’t keep two pence
in his pocket. For that he hit
up his latest friends for loans
on his terms of nonpayment.

He drank and got drunk in
religious fashion. Sometimes
fished out of the gutters of
strange cities he called home.

He despised and ripped the Irish
but loved them so much he left
his perennially flowering genius
to pass through generations.

 

#### Poet’s Notes ####

If you feel strongly about this poem, leave a comment below!
(I won’t delete rude comments, I’ll just reuse them in a poem — with attribution. ;-))

The image of the initial draft can be seen here:

Joyce

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The Morning After (Labor Day)

The Morning After (Labor Day)

This sucks. Tuesday morning after
the long weekend. Schlepped myself
to the office to face the familiar pile
of work that hadn’t receded much

in my absence. Then I felt something
in my pocket and pulled out
a wad of crumpled up paper.
(In rushing I merely transferred

the contents to my work pants.)
Two receipts, a program and a menu
brought a broad smile. A late arriver
felt compelled to comment.

Yes I did have a great weekend
I said, though I didn’t share any
of the public and private pleasure
of all the things we did together.

 

#### Poet’s Notes ####

If you feel strongly about this poem, leave a comment below!
(I won’t delete rude comments, I’ll just reuse them in a poem — with attribution. ;-))

The image of the initial draft is below:

Morning After Labor Day

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Handholds

Handholds

I’m sorry to say, to have to admit
that your head was my foothold,
sockets of your eyes, handholds.

If I’d gone around, I might have fallen.
But if I’d gone through you, I wouldn’t
be standing here to explain, would I?

Instead I went over and beyond
and saw the lights that everyone
talks about, but you never did see.

Sorry you can’t forget. I’ve moved on,
though your head was my foothold,
gouges in your eyes, my handholds.

 

 

#### Poet’s Notes ####

 

If you feel strongly about this poem, leave a comment below!
(I won’t delete rude comments, I’ll just reuse them in a poem — with attribution. ;-))

The image of the initial draft is below:

handholds

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