Vocal cords of poetic verse by Connor Deeks

Vocal cords of poetic verse by Connor Deeks

When I am asked

How I began writing poems,
I talk about the indifference of education.

It was my last term of university,

A brilliant spring,
Everything dry and warm.

I sat in an old stone building

In a carelessly kept classroom,
But the arching fir trees were as deaf
As the ears of my sleeping classmates.
“You can leave if don’t want to be here,”
My professor rang out,
Loud as the clock tower in the quad,
Nestled next to the building with the old clock.
No one left.
Nothing was crass or indifferent,
Except those trees out the window
And that sun blaring endless commercials

For summer holidays indoors.

I sat in an old stone building

In a carelessly kept classroom,

The dullness of winter surrounded,

And placed my thoughts

In the mouth of language

In the vocal cords of poetic verse,

The expression I never had.

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Poem of the Day: When I Am Asked

Posted: Mon, 13 May 2013 00:00:00 -0600

When I am asked

how I began writing poems,

I talk about the indifference of nature.

It was soon after my mother died,

a brilliant June day,

everything blooming.

I sat on a gray stone bench

in a lovingly planted garden,

but the day lilies were as deaf

as the ears of drunken sleepers

and the roses curved inward.

Nothing was black or broken

and not a leaf fell

and the sun blared endless commercials

for summer holidays.

I sat on a gray stone bench

ringed with the ingenue faces

of pink and white impatiens

and placed my grief

in the mouth of language,

the only thing that would grieve with me.