All the Little Bards
Albert Gannon Farquar-Lock, he sowed
his peppered praise; his Shakespeare
wandering love of words, and hey!...
distant, country, with me the pupil fifteen
and a day, he my teacher:
keen to learn my pen, his way;
and through the nightly, writing of his sprite,
I learned to conjure light, by write;
his furrowed brow, or tense fleshy smile,
could take my pen, through field or styal,
we hushed the stars and wrote of mars and
other poultry Gods, like Hemingway, Carver,
Doyle and Faulkner's saints; then briskly,
followed the words, I'd borrowed from Bukowski,
Capote and unfaithful Hughes;
Plath,Mckweon and O'keefe all helped master
the stealthy thief, "time"; to write such simple prose;
the skin off every poet's nose;
and now with his memory, his college tie, his blue-
tweed jacket, and his catholic sigh, my skill (little),
and joy of speech, he hushed the stars, for me to reach.
Copyright © Peter Lewis Holmes | Year Posted 2015
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment