This is a pretty old poem of mine that I think jibes fairly well with this week's theme over at Poetry Thursday. I know the lines are a little off, but remember, I'm a fiction writer, not a poet, and I just can't capture "the line" the way, say, Alan Dugan can. I do wish I could, though.
* * *
The Pleasure of Ephemera
When I reach my lowest
I go to George’s
Antiques and look through
other people’s
abdications. Today,
I find a postcard:
two keystone cops asleep
on what looks like
a tomato. The message
reads: This place
is so exciting I found
two policemen sleeping
on the beet. Beneath the message,
Lizzie wrote to Clara,
Why don’t you come
and visit sometime
before she walked out of her house
in 1923 Murphysboro and made,
out of rose petals and the stems
of stargazer lilies, a ukulele
she played— while riding in
a wooden wheelbarrow—
every day the sun shone
like something
that had been lost
for days and then
suddenly found.
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5 comments:
this is really strong. nothing to whimp out and play prose writer on account of ;-)
every day the sun shone
like something
that had been lost
for days and then
suddenly found.
What I would have given to have been the author of those lines. I'd say you've captured the line pretty well.
Thanks, Ren. It's hard for me not to wimp out.
And, Dana, you write lines better than those pretty much every week. But thank you.
well that's certainly a better poem than many self acclaimed poets could write so I'd say you're a poet too! I particularly like the ending.
Great poem. I especially liked
two keystone cops asleep
on what looks like
a tomato. The message
reads: This place
is so exciting I found
two policemen sleeping
on the beet. Beneath the message,
Lizzie wrote to Clara,
Why don’t you come
and visit sometime
but then, I'm a sucker for corny jokes.
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