In the inner courtyard of the December night
Love is cultivating endlessly in the heart of the lover
The land of attraction is awakening with the immortal attraction of the prayer
He is not a man in the south's happy embrace of prayer, but a woman
-09.12.2020 Chattogram
***
Inspired by the poem December Night of William Stanley Merwin (September 30, 1928 -): American poet, prose writer, and translator who has won numerous awards, including the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry and the National Book Award. Seventeenth Poet Laureate of the United States.
Categories:
merwin, love,
Form: Free verse
W-riter
I-s
L-etting
L-ine
I-mplement
A-crostic
M-use
S-o
T-he
A-stute
N-ifty
L-itterateur
E-rases
Y-our
M-ind's
E-motional
R-egret
W-ith
I-nspiring
N-ote
Topic: Birthday of poet William Stanley Merwin (September 30)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
Categories:
merwin, birthday, poets,
Form: Acrostic
I admire great poets old,
perusing the tragic ends.
Researching their writing styles and patterns
their layouts, rhyming, punctuation, moods,
in dark solitude they penned dreadful words.
Many, end by suicide,
others of drug addiction.
John Berryman threw himself off a bridge,
Weldon Kees, disappeared into nowhere,
Rupert Brooke, he died at twenty-seven.
Some living a good long life,
with a death due to old age.
Merwin had a childhood full of sadness,
but he found his Zen in nature writing,
he explained his style as an open form.
Abraham Klein, a recluse
he lapsed into a silence.
Called, one of Canada's greatest writers,
here is one that published at eight years,
Wilber, he lasted to ninety-six and wrote.
I admire great poets old,
perusing the tragic ends.
_________________________
March 7, 2018
Poetry/Blank Verse/Old Poets Dead
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1001-977-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Seven-Ten
sponsor, Emile Pinet
First Place
Categories:
merwin, old, poets,
Form: Blank verse
W.S. Merwin,
Our Poet Laureate,
Lives on Maui,
A 30$ plane ticket from me.
He spoke on NPR today
Of poetry, and writing, and the "unknown."
He spoke like a man with an award.
I've never read anything he has ever written and
He's never read anything I have ever written
And we're both the poorer for it.
Though soul aside,
I have no physical reward.
I have something better: myself.
And yet I don't even know what he looks like.
In my world a secret is surrounding me and I can't yell out.
Categories:
merwin, on writing and words
Form: Free verse