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.

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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.

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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.

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