The Writer as a Poetry Student

I was recently asked if I write poetry. Normally, I answer no to this question and just avoid the embarrassment all together but this time I went digging through my external hard drive. I only remember writing a few poems in college around the ages of 19 and 20 but somehow, I had buried the memory of the other poems deep down inside my mind.

Well! Let me tell you. This is not the case. I found my “portfolio” of about sixteen poems from that time period. I had a good laugh. How much my writing has changed but also, I don’t know if I am still up to the task of penning a poem. Here are a couple of samples from my younger days.

The Hounds

Those ill-fated hounds;
Butchered, mangled, and bashed
by their master
Actaeon

He swallowed their lively flesh;
Rabid, bloodied at the mouth

Howling for chaste Artemis
To save them; she merely watches—
A bystander resting with her stags

The last whelp could be heard
But not saved

The Alligator

The blade is smooth and ideal
as it snuggles in his back pocket

waiting for the moment when it will
pounce willingly onto its next victim

slashing it coolly: throat, belly, etc.

Kicking the cracked limestone across
his path, his step leading into a hasty trot

and then he comes to it, left hand
shaking as he reaches for his smooth

blade snuggled in his back pocket and
then he guts it

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3 comments

    1. Thank you for the kind words. It was one of my less embarrassing college-era poems. I studied Classics in college so I wanted to do a reversal of the myth for my poetry class.

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