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| Boston Common Convergence: Theme, Variations, Refrain, and a Short Coda
the eager bouncing dog bounds
across the stillfrozen earlyspring pond
launching and through a cloud of ruffled gulls
on the first warm Saturday in March,
while the two curlygirls dangle
bare feet off the chippedpaint
wooden pier
the eager bouncing girls bound
across the stillfrozen earlyspring pond
launching and through a flock of ruffled dogs
on the first warm day in March,
while the two curlygulls dangle
bare flippers off the chippedpaint
wooden pier
the panting paddling dog strains
through the heatwaving midsummer pond
by and through a tired crowd of unbemused gulls
on the umpteenth warm day in August,
while the two curlygirls slurp
patriotic popsicles in their airconditioned
leather couch living room
the wearydog sleeps
beneath the sadwillow,
the gulls idly paddle
on another lazy autumn day
while the two curlygirls pass
their furtive scribbled notes beneath
their teacher’s nose
the antsybored dog,
through an expanding and shrinking
breathcloud, stares
across his still, frozen yard
the flakes infinite tiny sleepinggulls
on another cold day in December,
while both curlygirls nurse
their redpeeling chapped
running noses
the eager bouncing dog bounds
across the stillfrozen earlyspring pond
launching and through a cloud of ruffled gulls
on the first warm day in March,
while the two curlygirls dangle
bare feet off the chippedpaint
wooden pier and I realize
there is no
ending.
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Arse Poetica
someday I’ll amass
the perfect line,
so gorgeous you
won’t resist the urgent
fervid impulse to remove
all your clothes and lay
in the luxury
of my words,
gently shifting
so the bars and serifs
massage your back.
you’ll beckon me to come
and join you
afterwords
I’ll kiss the smooth
runway between your shoulders,
softly brushing
the dots of my i's
like pine needles
from your back,
still speckled with the pink
imprints of my letters.
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| This poem was just selected for the third place Vonna Hicks Adrian Prize for Poetry at the College of Wooster. This means 2 things:
1. I'm a prize-winning poet.
2. I'm a professional poet. This bad boy just scored me a hundred bucks.
Orion
If I have to be murdered
let it be on a clear winter night
like this, walking home from Drug Mart,
plastic bag of milk and Oreos
on my wrist, hand in pocket
so the bag rustles and bumps,
against my thigh, softly breaking
the thick silence.
Then let me look up at the stars
at just the right angle
so the wind catches my hot
breath and my glasses fog so it’s
impossible to see the man
in a black trench coat,
stealthy, approaching me
with the Rusty Knife.
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| I introduce my six favorite words to each other in my darkened basement, and with the music pumping, the drinks flowing, and golden dust from cheesy chips sticking to everything, they decide to throw a sestina.
Allow me, Plod
to introduce you to Titter.
Titter, meet Mucous.
Scuttlebutt, Credulous.
Credulous, Scuttlebutt.
And now everyone meet Epiphanic.
“Aha!” Says Epiphanic
as he sees Plod.
“I’ve seen you before,” he declares. Scuttlebutt
trips over Titter
and runs into Credulous,
whose chips all stick to Mucous.
“Get these off me!” shouts Mucous,
while Epiphanic
suddenly realizes that Credulous
(who is watching the dozing, drooling Plod
eliciting laughs from Titter)
looks very much like Scuttlebutt.
Epiphanic tells this to Scuttlebutt,
who absolutely can’t resist telling Mucous.
Mucous, however, is busy sneezing all over Titter,
who can’t help but giggle as she sees Epiphanic
emphatically telling an apathetic Plod
how much Scuttlebutt looks like Credulous.
“I believe it!” shouts Credulous
when Scuttlebutt
tells him they are twins separated at birth. Plod,
yawning, steps on a chip covered in mucous
and discards it angrily while it dawns on Epiphanic
That Titter has a gorgeous pair of t’s.
But Epiphanic is not the only one ogling Titter:
staring across the room at her, Credulous
really believes what Epiphanic
said about Titter’s pretty pair. Unenvious of Titter’s single pair, Scuttlebutt
makes a scuttlebet about who Titter will end up with. Mucous
sniffs his drink quizzically as he sits in the chair next to Plod.
As the night wanes, Titter chuckles and snuggles her pair against Scuttlebutts’,
so Scuttlebutt wins her bet. Credulous somehow falls asleep end-to-end with Mucous,
and Epiphanic decides—quickly and conclusively—that he detests Plod.
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I have a near-complete, very ambitious poem on the way. For now, enjoy this:
Look Closely
Awash in the first warm afternoon,
chasing the lowflying birds, a dog
runs and bounds
off the stillfrozen early
spring pond. Two
lovely girls dangle
their bare feet from the old green paintchipped pier.
I cannot watch without
composing.
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