An earnest attempt to write a poem about myself without using the word ‘I’ (a poem)

I started reading The Secret Life of Pronouns, by James W. Pennebaker, and it got me thinking… The poet turns inward Is it depression? Or an honest look at buried feelings? If the rain is falling does it make a difference? If you step outside you will get wet. If there’s a nail sticking out of [...]

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When I open the book of poetry to see what it holds (a poem)

Another afternoon spent browsing at the bookstore, but not finding a single book of poetry that I could relate to… 1 I am jealous of the literary tone the poet has achieved on page after page without faltering— except for every now and then for dramatic effect My own poems feel prosaic and pedestrian in [...]

Afterwards (a poem)

Not eight words… The soreness kicks in two days later. The attack of unbearable heavy breathing that followed the rapid climb from the beach felt like punishment enough at the time; clearly, my body is not done with me yet. The small aches in joints and limbs I took as signs to exercise caution— but [...]