Free Verse
There don’t have to be end rhymes, although internal rhymes are often used. The meter can vary but enjambment moves things along to avoid long pauses and discontinuities.
Douglas Gilbert
The poetry of Douglas Gilbert has many styles: some old, some new, some borrowed, some blue… Ooops, that’s fallen into the marriage ceremony. It’s not that. Cool blue like a song or not.
On Sand and Steps
After hurricane Sandy
nothing felt real for me
She said to
turn off my flashlight
because the looters she knew
would know she left her apartment
if they saw her in my light
But I was clumsy in the dark
invisible and not real, not able
to keep blind rhythm masterfully
for unreal walking in the dark, and
I fell at the bottom of the stairs
flying like a fledgling on nested steps
catching my foot on an invisible edge
My thigh hurt from a pull
because I was unreal, ungraceful
I was without power
dark and hungry, looking for
hurricane charms.
None could wash away
Sandy sorrow and surges
when too many steps
needed to be taken urgently.
She used to find me charming
thought I was her good luck charm
but for a while now
I’ve just been used
Without power
dark and hungry
hurricane charms
were hard to find.
She knows everyone but me, and
I suppose I used to be charming
She needed to charge her phone
to talk to her real friends
in the real world
Seems that I, being unreal,
can’t see in the dark,
missed a step,
fell, and
we went to
charge her cell phone
near the security booth
where they hide guards
and do nothing, a light light
house like Potemkin’s façade
There was a generator at the booth
where she could charge her cell phone
talk to her real friends
in the real world
Unreal in the dark
without heat
without hot water
wet faces are not washed
dirty, filthy tides cry, but
I decided
the ocean is more beautiful
and magnificent than the mud
of the tidal marauders, and
the seagulls sang more sweetly
than the people on the street
as I wandered alone through debris
on the beach with flashlight on for me
watching a Dredge pipe spray
new sand for replenishment
new food for seagulls, and
food for thought that
wiggled like worms and clam bits
A few skillful birds caught
long pieces of food
and each had
five other birds attack it
A few snatched little pieces
that they ate surreptitiously
Some just enough
for air-to-air to beak combat
Many got none and
one stood away from
the main torrent of muddy water
not seeming to care
wading without waiting
I mumbled you’ll never
get anything that way
It barked at me
Why did you bark?
I blurted
If I chirped
would you pay attention?
It knew a good sand bar
so it flew and landed
flew and landed
so I could follow it
I walked across some rocks
onto a sand bar bizarre, and
an unopened bottle of whiskey
freely floated onto the bar to a stop
I poured some rye
into the whiskey’s cap
let the seagull drink
and wink at me as I
drank from the bottle
Foam rose
time to go
Alone with a thought
it seemed more articulate
than a parrot distraught; thus
it bravely rested on my shoulder
and I brought it home
I was so cold but
I lit the oven aglow
and put up some water
to boil, bravissimo
It asked me to open
cans of clams and sardines
which I gladly did, amen
seeing as I needed an ending
to the orphan joke: a man
walked into a bar along with
a barking seagull, a chirping dog
a priest, and the bartender spoke…
I thought I had been quite a good host
but then it asked if I could
charge its cell phone…
That’s when I cooked it.
It tasted like chicken in wine
blessed by a priest and a bartender.
She knew every storm but me, and
I suppose I was often a placid lake
but now I have angry ripples
and the tides will never seem the same
Poignant Pointed Poems & Puffery Stuffing 