Poetry Postcards #4

This past August I participated in the August Poetry Postcard Fest, where I wrote 30 poems on postcards to strangers. All the poems were written “on the spot” with no prior planning and shipped off. In return, I received 30 postcards from strangers. So in this 6 piece installment, I will share those poems that I wrote and sent off into the world. I decided they would all be sonnets, of some sort. All presented to you without edits (aka first drafts).

#16 “Photography is my Passion”

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Photography is my passion.
So you take pictures?
No. God no.
Just an obsession.
(she nods)
Well I do have a camera.
What do you use it for?

Patrisha. Patrisha?
Thousands of photos, files
on my hard drive, all of her.
Subject and muse, just her,
she’s all my lens can see.
Everyone needs a subject.
(high five)

#17 “First Poem for You”

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I wish I could rewrite that one first poem,
the first poem I ever wrote for you.
It was written far away and it was snowing
in Chicago. Written out of water,
blue and crimson, not a memory
I wanted to remember yet now stuck
inside those letters. Sensory
images were praised and they were word-struck
I used that meter that I loved so dear
to push you down and fit you in an aubade.
I blamed you for never being there
when I awakened, maybe it was fraud
that brought you from my bed and to my pen-
I can never write a first poem again.

#18 “Johnnys Appleseed”

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Let’s be Johnny Appleseeds.
(Johnnys’ Appleseed?)
Pioneers. The world still needs more apple trees.
If he really did all that
with a pot on his head,
I think we could, too.
selfless-

-I guess.
so that others may enjoy
well here, an appleseed.
Can it grow here, I know nothing
of fruit trees.
But take it,
enjoy

#19 “We Loved the Sea”

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We loved the sea, and allez à la plage
meant something much more sacred. We were there
between and ending and beginning again;
were confused. Were selfish. We would swear
away the fears of what had lain before us,
away the sting of each respective past
In hoping that the future would ignore us,
In hoping that the “us” and “we” would last.
It was summer, yes it had to be
that season when the soul is disconnected
from all it knows, instead towards the sea
it floats with grand intention, well persuaded;
It devours all it can and thinks it won
like a wolf devouring the sun.

#20 “Dancer in the Night”

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Dancer in the night
you watched my poem fly from the high tower
we rolled our bodies
drinking, virgin
we drank each other
we found the night in our day

Where are you, stranger?
After watching tides wane
bent over in forward folds
and yelling as we melted
you flew into oblivion
sans tether.

Oh right,
you don’t speak French.

 

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