I look up “poetry” in the dictionary, and the second definition is “the quickest way to lose blog traffic.”
Similarly, when you in turn Google “the quickest way to lose blog traffic,” the second listing describes “posting in the middle of a Saturday morning.”
Nonetheless, here’s another of my poems — a short one — from back in the day. Earlier this month I posted another poem from this era, Boulevard Park, Bellingham, which you’re of course also invited to read. As with that earlier poem, I’m leaving it as is, in that person’s voice, rather than editing it even just a little in this person’s voice.
Okay, I took out a double space.
(It was actually a purposeful double space to guide me in reading it at poetry readings. There also were some off-beats in the reading.)
This week I will be blogging a post of more poems — but, as respite for you, and also as a curiosity teaser-preview, ones not written by me but by someone with my last name (hint: not the person you think it is!) — as well as an interview. Good stuff.
But, first (I’m not quite so self-deprecating anymore that I would write, “But, first, before we get to the good stuff,” although apparently I would still think it), here’s one of my older poems.
Why Cats Stay in Abusive Relationships
Curled, head in your lap, we purr.
Shared heat in summer’s night, licking,
Scratching, licking, scratching clean you, me roughly,
You licking my wounds. A beating ache,
Just out of reach but you try, I try.
We don’t bend that way; we try.
I sleep on my other side, where I can
When I can, knowing I am loved.