Sketch of an unwritten poem on the life & times of the poet

by Stephen Collis

My first ever
poetry reading was
Al Purdy the
deep sea cave
of his voice
sunk and clogged
by the surf
I could barely
make him out
so many men
drowned there I
wonder how women
rose audible above
flotsam sea wrack
and ruin of
his submerged croak

//

And then I
see the process
my only consistency
my inconsistency to
live outside the
law you have
to be honest
abandon all plans
who enter here
this compost will
feed no fecund
future with its
sweet decay back
of the earth
shore line crumbling
dry sea caves
rising waters swamp
we see no
other earth no
plan at all
only scorched pages
walked away from
and the words
kill the brutes
now tell me
guys please who
are the brutes?

//

In the end
It’s only a poem
about planning to write
a poem
I get up
everyone is asleep
I read from Culley or
Wolsak or Eng
head out walking
my narrow line
to the sea
recursive feedback loop
consider what birds
there are touch foxtails
the word gloaming
when are we
in time and aesthetics?
Modernists come home
to roost in our
fearful asymmetry
put a record on
listen to the fine grained static
what bird is that?
small snub dollop in the brush
red–eyed vireo or marsh wren
unbearable sweetness of late July
taste the berries and note
only days until the first pie