Inspired by a painting.
Plotting out your novel
in the rain,
or so I imagine.
I struggled with Ulysses,
didn't get past the first five pages
to be honest.
You wouldn't kneel
at your mother's bedside,
standing up against Catholicism
even in death.
Your get rich quick schemes
failed, until you acquired a patron.
Still you squandered the money
every chance
on wine.
We'll never know much about
your daughter,
the letters burned
by an overzealous relative.
Many eye surgeries later,
Joyce and an umbrella,
woman on his arm,
in the rain.
July 31, 2008
© 2008 Anne Westlund
Poetry by Anne Westlund
Read 691 times
Written on 2008-08-03 at 05:32
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Joyce
Plotting out your novel
in the rain,
or so I imagine.
I struggled with Ulysses,
didn't get past the first five pages
to be honest.
You wouldn't kneel
at your mother's bedside,
standing up against Catholicism
even in death.
Your get rich quick schemes
failed, until you acquired a patron.
Still you squandered the money
every chance
on wine.
We'll never know much about
your daughter,
the letters burned
by an overzealous relative.
Many eye surgeries later,
Joyce and an umbrella,
woman on his arm,
in the rain.
July 31, 2008
© 2008 Anne Westlund
Poetry by Anne Westlund
Read 691 times
Written on 2008-08-03 at 05:32
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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