Together

Marriage

Lover's notes and valentines

Become in later years

Rubbish in the bottom of a drawer.

Sentiment withdraws and in its wake,

Disinterest, disgust, and not a trace

Of any thought but curiosity.

A suitor's pawn, like rubber or elastic,

Is bent to meet the lover's expectation.

And people who write poems such as this

Assume the river water's going to freeze.

5-22-14

Eel-Grass Cove

I wasted 50 years with Keats.

I could have read Millay.

This damned eternal loyalty!

I will turn away.

No nuances, no thought,

No gentle subtlety,

Cardboard, concrete, cold -

Is this poetry?

But how I can I renounce

My only source of love

Before I read Millay

And the rain in eel-grass cove?

12-10-13

 

Giving Up

I hate my poems! Damnit how I hate them!

Thoughtful, mellow and a dismal bore.

How can people who are worse than me

Take such darkling pleasure in their crap -

Believing when they die they wrote a poem.

With Keats in constellations in the sky

They will hang throughout eternity.

When I was young my verse seemed very good,

Aroused a little interest. This is gone.

Still I write, madder but with hope

Poesy will make a home in me.

67 – let the flame of hope -

Only now delusion – gutter out.

5-21-14

Caring

He cared. I never did,

So I was saved.

My dog was killed at 6 while I lay

In my grandpa's arms.

Not to care

Releases you from life.

You may go insane before you die,

But given the right medicine

You'll live.

Even though the monster of a

Mother hates your grandpa

Because he loves you.

Both of them are dead.

5-23-14

 

Together

Happy and content together.

This is what I like.

Two strands of thread together

Weave a cloth in memory,

That naturally will warm us when

The night is cold in winter.

Though we're not together,

Different places, different psyches.

Now while you are working,

I am typing into dreams,

And dream of odd familiar things

That breach the wall of sleep.

Memory – a masquerade.

The phantoms are not me,

But figures from the dream. I move

In sweet accord with them,

In dreams beneath a sleep.

5-22-14

 

Memorial Day

The honest man does what he wants to do.

You adapt to him, not him to you.

America! Bombs and war and rockets.

Her music jars your molars from their sockets.

Tattoos, pizza and a jug of beer.

Where's the freeway getting out of there?

5-23-14

If you like my poems, I have some collections on Amazon, both paperback and Kindle.  The paperbacks are mostly $10, and the Kindles are mostly $1.  To see them, click Books on the dropdown, then type Joseph Hart Poetry in the search bar.