Poem Not in Me
Not a Poem in Me,
But I am not lost for images or cleverer phrasings,
Like a half-made analogy, like forgetting how to wink,
So, blinking, trying to will how to know how to whistle,
My lips round and,
I feel I believe there are man-eaters around,
I strain, listening for huskie barks,
Trying to tune out the police force’s ambulatory sirens,
Rather those dogs, cold and white, barking,
I picture a mugger, who pictures me,
Hearing a polar bear pad over tall drifts, somehow.
Who is stalking us both?
Then thirst makes me contemplate licking this igloo’s roof,
Freezing my tongue to its roundness,
Grasping inheritable spear, I glow in oily lamp light,
Whilst your self-expression takes a back seat,
Content with shouting directions at the jagged dreams,
Of ragged sleep, who drive in shifts down mad highways,
ut that’s hours off still yet, and yet,
I remember to breathe,
When I catch myself holding my breath,
Playing at my casted role of being that ascetic mystic,
Caught with crumb grubby fingers,
At bottom of that annihilating cookie jar,
How dumb am I?
No, seriously, I am asking.
— By Joseph Robert
Copyright ©2013, by Joseph Robert. All Rights Reserved.
Joseph Robert was born and raised in the Midwest. However, he has always been partial to Hawaiian beaches. Nevertheless: Go Badgers! After living and working for several years in rural Japan, he now resides in London with his wife, writer and poet Leilanie Stewart. In his spare time, you can find him at the British Museum trying to teach himself how to read Sumerian cuneiform. Don’t worry, yes, he has seen Evil Dead, so doesn’t read any of it out loud.