How, in general, have you fitted poetry into your own life?
In my twenties…I scrambled out poems at the weekends. I still do. It's not unusual now for me to keep poems for a year. I do attempt to revise properly, and new poems keep elbowing their elders aside!
I did, however, publish diligently. I don't write for the drawer. I can't. There is no room in the drawers in this house!
The stableyard hangs lit. It is a ship
with its warm galley in the house below.
Now, through the rain and mud, our seaboots slip.
The horses, with their billowed rugs, blot glow
of wind-tossed bulbs. They crash like waves into
their strawed, lit stalls, stare over cabin doors
while barrows, bales and buckets creak and flow.
Sometimes, working at the world's surface,
I must roil waves, must wrangle currents
to force the flood-waters' flint-gray spate
back at the beaches. Spray-flecked breakers
whack the walls of cliffs. The water
dimly beneath them heaves. The deep
is a mountain, looming. Lurking in its wake,
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Cover banner photo: "Seascape Study with Rain Cloud" by John Constable
Topical poem image: Satellite View of Post-Tropical Cyclone Sandy on Oct. 30, NOAA/NASA GOES Project