Friday, May 17, 2013

First Cup—Poetry Friday

Warner Pacific College sponsors a good little magazine. It is interesting to me that there is a tradition of literary magazines at this place. I was once an editor and usually have been a contributor. Upon returning here a few years ago and discovering Rocinante, I offered a few and was accepted. This year, something was off in me and I didn't; it would have been good to among such good stuff this year in this very fine publication.

As I wondered why I didn't have anything to submit this year, this emerged. Since it is my "Poetry Friday" and it has been a while since the last blog:

Upon why I am not in [2013] Rocinante: XII

No room for poetry right now.
No space. No deep breathing—only shallow.

When I was young (I’ve written about
this somewhere else, in a foreign hand,
now tucked away in a
filing cabinet drawer, in a manila folder
marked “Poetry”), I answered the
question, saying, “Bum.” I
meant “poet.” I want that.

And ever since I’ve known that is
who I aspire and sometimes am,
and ever since when the poetry
doesn’t, I know the soul space grows
arid—sere—dusty—full of

and I know I must find water.


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