Most people don’t know, but I’ve been writing poetry since high school.
I’ve never been prolific with my poems; I’m not a poem-a-day sort of person (perhaps because I’m an introvert), and I’ve certainly had some dry years along the way.
But taking classes at the local Writers and Books in Rochester on and off over the last few years (especially with Jake Rakovan) has tapped into something fermenting beneath the surface.
In response to a few requests (actually very few), I’m considering posting some of my poems.
In a later post I may share some of the poems that bubbled up in Jake’s courses at Writers and Books, including a course he taught on Dante’s Inferno called “Writing Your Way Through Hell.”
But here is my latest poem, written in response to a time of guided meditation at the end of the Faith and Work conference in NYC I just attended. I scribbled most of it down on the spot, then edited it later.
Drilling down beneath the root cellar of my soul,
I caught a glint of some deep glow,
pulsing and rising
up through the dark.
As it approached I turned to flee, but
luscious with love,
wrinkled hands enfolded despair,
soothing the dried-up grief
of barren days and nights of pain.
The beam refracted,
sparking into ruby and sapphire,
emerald and diamond,
bursting through the termite-infested floor,
to crack a granite heart
and melt the stalactite stratagems
of endless limestone sorrow.
As you can see, the conference affected me at a deep, existential level.
Depending on interest, I’ll consider posting more of my poetry sometime.