So as I was sitting here thinking about what to submit today, I glanced at my shelf and saw a chapbook of poetry I put together for a class a couple years ago. It was a hoot to revisit these rambling sophomoric efforts at saying the unsayable. The chapbook is titled Allowed in the Din and scrawled in the margins are many poignant and prodding comments by my instructor – poet, professor and friend George Kalamaras. This poem . . . he liked. It’s a ghazal – not an easy form to fill with meaningful content when writing poetry. I must have done something right, so I give it to you here. Enjoy.
I cross a line when I critique inaudibly.
Instead, I ought to help the weak inaudibly.
Reflected sat the mistress, frantic – “What to wear?!”
Grace slipped in shining – “Oh! So chic!” – inaudibly.
Sin wraps a pink scarf tight around her milky scalp.
But wicked words won’t hide there – “Freak!” – inaudibly.
The petals spread and smile a smile that saddens me.
I know it will bloom lonely, bleak, inaudibly.
Some smack and push and shove and leave a writhing mark.
Pain burrows deep – I’m not a geek! – inaudibly.
BJ they call me in the South where things are big.
I’m not. I brave a new technique inaudibly.