Daily Archives: March 31, 2016

Listening To Young Poets

Listening to 
young poets

whose work
does not itself hold my interest

but whose joy in the work nonetheless
raises in me

my near dead longing
to be 

transported again
by words

first by the words of others
renewing enchantment

and then by my own
finally reminding me

that indeed I still 
have within me the spells

I once cast 
with ease 

releasing from my chest
hurricanes and after

soaking downpours
followed by sun

Listening to young poets
whose work does not itself hold me

yet I honor and thank them
and those who honor and nurture them

for being water and sun
in these parched days

reminding me
that I may still live and grow


grime on my bumper, and so what.  
it’s not like it hides a beautiful body.  

enough rust and holes
to make next inspection a worry.

enough grunts and clicks and creaks
to make driving anywhere a symphony.

it still runs well enough
to make me mostly unafraid to go anywhere.

it’s got lots of room and red sass to spare.
above all it’s got a banging sound system.

sometimes I joke and say I’m going out 
to drive the stereo around my city.

it’s no joke to do it the way I do it, though.
they hear me coming long before they see me.

in dead of winter I crack a window
to let the big noise out for passers-by.

in height of summer I open it all up
and let it rip for everyone to hear.

there’s an occasional strange glance
from a car or a walker when I pass.

it’s not pretty, and neither am I.
gray on my head, grime on my bumper,

holes where no holes should be;
two hundred and forty thousand miles

of rattle, squeak, bomb-bay bass and 
shouting along to blood passion songs.

it’s not like I can hide in a beautiful body
so I might as well turn up and show up,

for as long as I can, for as long
as the rust holds together.