Undercover Poet
One of my writing loves is poetry. As a writer it stretches me. It is a bit of a running joke with my brothers and my fishing buddies who chide me regularly about bongos, a beret and a soul patch. It takes a man comfortable in his masculinity to cross that line between metaphor and muskie fishing. I am that man.
I once said during a poetry reading that I was reading at that it was my goal to be Wisconsin's tallest poet. It was an attempt to lather up the audience, and it got a good laugh. Of course a tad-more-pretentious poet sitting in the audience came up and told me I was too late that he knew of a poet that was taller.
Well, shucks. Nothing to live for now.
But as I said, I enjoy it. When my first poem was published by Verse Wisconsin about 4 years ago, it started to fuel my desire for publication. It was a short little poem, but seeing it in print was about the coolest thing going at the time.
Now, the publisher that picked my book does publish poetry chapbooks (that's hip-talk for a small book of poems.) It is my hope that on the heels of Dirty Shirt: A Boundary Waters Memoir, they would be interested in publishing my poetry. I've developed quite a catalog of them and it would be cool to see them all together in a book. Something I need to talk to them about.
And so, to switch things up a bit, here's a few of my past works. Some good, some not. One poem I saw in The Sun magazine talked of a poet who in his lifetime probably writes 4000+ poems with maybe 100 or so published. That leaves 3900 that get thrown away when he dies. Yet, here he is starting another poem. That's about how it works.
So here's a few that will at least get read by someone before they're thrown away. Enjoy and let me know what you think.
I once said during a poetry reading that I was reading at that it was my goal to be Wisconsin's tallest poet. It was an attempt to lather up the audience, and it got a good laugh. Of course a tad-more-pretentious poet sitting in the audience came up and told me I was too late that he knew of a poet that was taller.
Well, shucks. Nothing to live for now.
But as I said, I enjoy it. When my first poem was published by Verse Wisconsin about 4 years ago, it started to fuel my desire for publication. It was a short little poem, but seeing it in print was about the coolest thing going at the time.
Now, the publisher that picked my book does publish poetry chapbooks (that's hip-talk for a small book of poems.) It is my hope that on the heels of Dirty Shirt: A Boundary Waters Memoir, they would be interested in publishing my poetry. I've developed quite a catalog of them and it would be cool to see them all together in a book. Something I need to talk to them about.
And so, to switch things up a bit, here's a few of my past works. Some good, some not. One poem I saw in The Sun magazine talked of a poet who in his lifetime probably writes 4000+ poems with maybe 100 or so published. That leaves 3900 that get thrown away when he dies. Yet, here he is starting another poem. That's about how it works.
So here's a few that will at least get read by someone before they're thrown away. Enjoy and let me know what you think.
Great Love by
Jim Landwehr
They swam in Lake Ontario
When they met in
Rochester
Fell in love long-distance
style
And nurtured it by
mail
They swam in Lake Michigan
After they married two
years later
On a beach in
Milwaukee
Before it was toxic
They swam in Lake
Superior
In their forties
with their two kids
The lake was pure
and deep
Like their love
They’ve yet to swim
in Huron
And Erie still
awaits too
Perhaps with
grandchildren in one
Each other’s ashes in
the other
Fat Cat by
Jim Landwehr
Fat Cat was a stray we welcomed
Who never really got a name
Other than Fat Cat
Creativity gave way to appearance
He was a shade of roly poly grey
With a kangaroo sack stomach
That waddled when he ran
Which wasn’t often
He did run at the sound
Of the kitchen can opener
It meant a disgusting wet meal
A Fancy Feast for a Fatty Beast
A beast named Fat Cat
He had a thing for the ladies
Tommed all night
Slept all day
One day he went missing
Never came back
When we found him in the gutter
We changed his name
From Fat Cat to Flat Cat
Morning Home-icide by
Jim Landwehr
The
Pop-Tart Strudel
Loaded
into the mouth
Of
the half-cocked
Middle
schooler
Shot
out of the car
Rifling
into the heart
Of
his day
Got the Time? by Jim Landwehr
The change between yesterday and today
is minute in some ways, grandiose in others
A new wrinkle
A bit more rust
A flower withers
But at the
same time
In another
part of this world
A mother loses
a daughter
A car hurtles
off a cliff
An earthquake
levels a city
Which causes
free thinkers
To ask
themselves some questions
Why am I
here?
What’s it all
about?
When is my
number up?
After some
thought
Conclusions
are reached
I'm here for
a reason
My time is
short
I'd better
get going
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