Here’s the poem I worked on last week. It’s just 8 lines–technically an octave–so it may be an incomplete sonnet. (Sonnets are one octave, followed by a sestet to make a total of 14 lines.)
I can’t decide if this one has more to say or not. Amy says it’s done. At the risk of writing poetry by committee, what do you think?
Riding the Wind Before Pentecost
Commuters jump pacific-sized
puddles on thin wings and jet props,
cocking their knees against the cabin’s
steel curve. Sail boats below carve white
scars in the blue, working the wind we fight.
Peter (three) can’t walk on water yet.
He grabs the arm rest, flashes a tooth-
gritted grimace and feels each fall.
5 comments ↓
May I add but one word to Amy’s pronouncement?
It’s done… *well.*
Glad you made it home…
I always like your poetry. In this one, I wasn’t sure what the “three” referred to. I did figure “Peter” was some novice flyer, so it was fun to hear that it was a girl (woman?).
I wasn’t sure about the sense of non-closure at the end, but then I’m thinking that in some genius way it captures the uncertainty of flight or perhaps that middle place one experiences between the fall and the recovery.
I just noticed you have a podcast feed. That’s so cool. (For our listening pleasure!). Now, please tell me what the “three” means in your poem (I’m here, caught between the dip and the recovery).
L.L., Peter is three. The real person was a girl. Her name was probably not Peter. : ) She was also not three. But I like the number three.
Ann, you are kind. Thanks.
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