Podcast #3: January 20th, 2021
This week, both poems are from my self-published chapbook, Curt; Urbane. If you’d like to read the other poems I wrote, you can order a copy by clicking this link.
First, His Turning head, in early dawn, he sleeps blissful, closed eyes reminding first; love manifests in many forms. What others ask of you, often too much poor offer without thought, yet lying here child’s swaddled bliss, perfect disbelief: I hand you everything I own no hesitation towards cost to sleep in innocence, boy’s calm. Love’s revelation, manual laid bare no need to ask, just placed as gentle care nurture, built from nothing, yet aware. Give age and time, his puzzles point both means to understand, grow tall, truth confidence, raise doubtful hand. To think that in our youth, all answers were expected to exist, but never did. Life’s gift to him; new game, all change.
Looking back on this pamphlet, which I self-published back in 2020, I’m already wondering how much better a lot of these poems could now be with what I’ve learnt during the intervening period. I think that evolution as a poet is one of the most important skills you will ever learn.
Second, Hers This time, so fast, brain can’t adjust her tiny resting head to breast how was such beauty built within? Before strong preparation, except now golden intentions swallowed whole, tired body broken, not enough. The world needs heroes, imbeciles without most basic skills, recede grant halcyon child space to proceed. And I, behind, will melt away until no trace of wrong remains mere smudge of black as light abstains. This broken girl no longer grasps their basic steps, dead path ahead notion consumes, depression gains. Yet tiny hand might yet redeem both; damaged good, redrawing empathy redemption hewn, emerging artistry.