Friday, July 9, 2010
Blind Review Friday
The author shall remain anonymous (unless they chose to divulge themselves in the comments.)
Those commenting are also welcome to remain anonymous if they wish.
Incendiary comments will be removed.
If you would like your piece thrown to the wolves send it to email@example.com with "Workshop the hell out of this poem" as the subject line.
This week's offering is from a Clevelandpoetics the Blog contributor.
I planned to grow old and gracefully so.
Killed you off instead, which I’ll never get over.
There is blood on my teeth, in my mouth.
You can call it a choice but it wasn’t.
Call it my idea but it wasn’t.
When there’s a gun to your head
You’ll pretty much say anything.
At least, I did.
There is nothing I do not remember.
Discipline is the art of paying attention
To the present and I am
So very undisciplined.
I had other maps but I lost them.
We loved the borders and crossed them.
I am serving your sentence and mine.
Low tide, January sky.
Outside the pickup truck, the trees are bare.
It’s time to be getting back.
The poet doesn't invent. He listens. ~Jean Cocteau