Richard Fenwick ~ Poet

March 5, 2015

from "Around The Sun Without a Sail"

 

Geography

 

In anticipation of my birthday,

I’ve decided not to scratch my head

searching for perfect nouns, verbs

to fill an empty space on a page. 

I won’t worry about modifiers

or similes that refuse to settle in,

or the scolded child of passive voice.

No, today I will sit to admire

the prints on this wall, the map

posted over my cluttered desk

with its question mark of Africa,

its blue seahorse of Japan,

the stingray and its tail made

from the Aleutians and Alaska.

This is where I’ll wait

for my birth hour, which arrives

each year like summer gossip

with promises of ten more winters,

an abundance of more gray hair.

I will leave it all behind

to read Whitman or Paz, perhaps

a bit of George Bilgere,

and after I have a sandwich

with a Dutch or Belgian beer,

I’ll return alone to my map

where my mouth begins to water

as I taste the bone-in ribeye

that is always South America.

Copyright 2012

 

Once again Richard’s use of metaphor in the meter of Iambic Tetrameter cuts right to the heart of a poet reflecting on his life as it is, and the aging process as it proceeds, unabated. His lines speak directly of introspection, with acceptance, and a sort of grace of allowing life to be as it is without remorse or complaint. An acquiescence to the poet’s task of penning lines without worrying about consequence or perfect form. This poem speaks to the most basic task of poetic license.

 

 

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