V2:
The Hunter
The only time I’m truly calm
is when I’m alone, writing.
My heart settles
into a reassuring rhythm,
as when I'm reading a novel
where those I admire stride casually in
even from centuries away--
often from Vienna, Paris, Venice.
Neruda was happiest
when hunting for poems
in the forest. My heart
is most ecstatic when untethered
to the present. I open
a notebook ready
as snow is for paw prints
and my heart leaps like a dog
welcoming its master home,
eager for the promise of a romp.
We both relish the moment
in open air, its leash
slipped off, the poem sprinting
away into the underbrush,
or into woods thick
with pines and darkness,
through splashes of light,
the hunt on once
again.
V1:
The Hunter
Someone shouts my name
angrily and my heart
pounds like a door knocker
in a brute's fist.
The only time I’m truly calm
is when I’m alone, writing.
My heart settles
into a reassuring rhythm,
as when I'm reading a novel
where those I admire stride casually in
even from centuries away--
often from Vienna, Paris, Venice.
Neruda was happiest
when “hunting” for poems
in the forest. My heart
is most ecstatic when untethered
to the present. I open
a notebook ready
as snow is for paw prints
and my heart leaps like a dog
welcoming its master home,
eager for the promise of a romp.
We both relish the moment
in open air, its leash
slipped off, the poem sprinting
away into the underbrush,
or into woods thick
with pines and darkness,
through splashes of light,
the hunt once again
on.
The Hunter
Re: The Hunter
I always find your writing fun to read with under currents of seriousness. I think I would start with the 2nd stanza, cut first stanza. Just my feeble crit. It’s your poem.
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- Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Re: The Hunter
Thanks, Billy. I think you’re right. I have changed it.