Taking no prisoners. Including herself.

“If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.” -Emily Dickinson

*     *     *

To honor my mentor David Bromige, who passed away this past week, I will be posting some poems written under his tutelage or in collaboration. We would make a cup of tea, set arbitrary rules, and away we wrote~

May 7, 2008
14lLines; 8-10 syllables per line
Shannon / David every other line

An absentminded notation, brief—
Brief as a sentry is brief—
Was a century ago unraveled
It brought us fame. Thought readers might dispute
Its validity. Still, we weave
Sentences carrying the greatest load
Fame be damned. It was the love carried
In his correctness all he could unroll
Not even fire. He opened ash.
He thought about some cash still piling up
Lighter than snow. He wanted such cold, but
Feared for those below. Ragged, hungry, tired.
So his mark was brief. Gave us what was left.
A priceless poem. Witness over leaf.

May 7, 2008
14 lines; 10-12 syllables per line
Shannon / David every other line

We wrote of ragged sentences galore
Equating them with treasure hunts. We knew
What lacked precision where the ice was scant
Then forgot to watch the detail when floes got slicked
Drum-heavy from the start and mathematically
“Yes-ed” – approved through numbers, cold logic, weight.
Twice I began, but ripped it up; my pompous romp.
Popped, smarted, vexed by inactivity, I went –
True, she and she alone had voted for
Recycling, recycling our words, old debris
Says Shannon; yet she it is decoded simply
Yet painstakingly, yet again, this complex code
Error ruled me. But Shannon takes the cake
Eating every inch. Swallowing whole the gold.

§579 · June 15, 2009 · Poetry, Writing & Language · Tags: , , · [Print]

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