Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Three new poems not from Wild Once and Captured

I put so much effort in trying to get the poems for Wild Once and Captured ready, I didn't write very much, at all. No poetry, not much else. But here are three that I managed to scratch out and aren't in the book. One, the last one, "Ourselves," came to me on a long walk when I didn't have pencil or paper. It was entirely written in my head long before it got to paper. Maybe that's why it's so short and so predominantly one-syllable words.

Unexpected Joy

We never talk about bliss.
She thinks I can’t remember.
He thinks I’ve never been.
You guess it never happens.

I know it takes big space
here and there and inside my head
and comes easier in daylight
than in darkness.

But unexpected joy in
simple and in silence
and clarity that I know
so little after all

and suddenly okay with that
makes me want to share her bed
and hug him to me
and send to you this way

what little it is
I do know.

Line of Descent 

None of the men
who came before I did,
not my father or his brothers,
nor their father or Dave, his brother,

or their father or his
back to Isaac
and to Ishmael
or more precisely

to some bastard on Dublin streets
sat in his car at sixty-five
staring at the field
across the road

listening to Who sing Baba lyrics
thought that the last quarter
of my life looms ahead
and I don’t know
what I will do
with it.


We have it
to be
where we are
so why
so often
so lost

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