The Occassional Poet

Over the years I've had a habit of writing poems for occassions and people.  When I was a high school sophomore I wrote a poem about every business in town (Shelburn), published my verses, and was promptly either ostracised by the proprieters or given a welcoming pat on the back for my satirical edge.  I've written so many poems now for church occassions, birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, and graduations . . . I've just lost count.  And most of these verses have ended up in the trash, or lost forever.

In more recent years, however, I've taken to writing poems to people who might need encouragement or a chuckle.  Birthdays, anniversaries and holidays are still fodder, but I've also mailed poems to friends and family in grief, or during times of loss.  Not everyone appreciates my gifts . . . but, nevertheless, I try to do what I can with words.

Last year I wrote a poem to a friend on the occassion of the first anniversary of his wife's death.  I thought this poem might help him in his grief, or articulate what he was feeling, but could not express.  Over lunch, he told me how much the poem meant to him . . . and later I submitted it to a west coast literary magazine, Rattle, and it was accepted for publication in the summer 2011 editon (thanks, Tim).  In the bio section of the magazine, I wrote about the poem's background and genesis.

This is not a humorous poem . . . but I offer it as a kind of understudy to the breadth of poetry I write, including the wild and wacky stuff that no one will touch, and some of the deeply personal romantic verse that only my wife sees.  I do continue to be grateful to all of the editors out there who, in spite of my insanity, do take me seriously from time to time and say "yes' to my submissions.  And I'm grateful to the readers who do, occassionally, discover one of my poems in a magazine.

On the First Anniversary of His Wife's Death

He thinks that time will heal.  But this is fable.
He tries to call her friends.  But is not able.
He wants to venture out.  But is not stable.
Her photograph remains upon the table.