This is the first of five poems that I wrote a few weeks ago, and submitted to a new local literary journal. All five were rejected. I'm eager to see what the editors, two English professors, accepted. "Academic" needn't be a pejorative term.
As others, coffee drinks in hand,
Hum brighter tunes, and take their
Kids to candy lands and manic
Pleasures yours are destined not
To see. You've only strength to
Drive them home, and only hope
Enough to think they'll like the little
Snacks, in plastic, you supply
Them as they kill another afternoon
With just each other and TV.
A world, edged in gloss and gold,
Parades itself in parking lots and
In the yards along the street. The
Other mothers seem to see it living.
You alone perceive it dead, and
Staring at its lifeless face, you hear
The dirge.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
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Written on 2011-09-26 at 13:28
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Cul-de-sac
A dirge will play inside your headAs others, coffee drinks in hand,
Hum brighter tunes, and take their
Kids to candy lands and manic
Pleasures yours are destined not
To see. You've only strength to
Drive them home, and only hope
Enough to think they'll like the little
Snacks, in plastic, you supply
Them as they kill another afternoon
With just each other and TV.
A world, edged in gloss and gold,
Parades itself in parking lots and
In the yards along the street. The
Other mothers seem to see it living.
You alone perceive it dead, and
Staring at its lifeless face, you hear
The dirge.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 30 times
Written on 2011-09-26 at 13:28
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
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