Poetry Month, April 1: Staking a Claim

Okay. It is Poetry Month again, and I am once more threatening/promising/trying to write a poem a day. These are all more poem-plans than anything else: first drafts that will give me something to work on, an assignment for May and June and July, etc. Therefore, they will not be polished or maybe even any good at all. Ideas. First thoughts. In the immortal words of Natasha (from Rocky and Bullwinkle): "What you expect? Gem every time?"

This first is a cheat, actually written after hearing Billy Collins in San Diego in February...but it is equally unworked (life intervened), so I figured it would give me a running start on the month...

Staking a Claim

In the territorial imperative

called poetry,

lines have been drawn

and claims have been filed and notarized.

Who could intrude upon

frosty woods on a snowy evening?

Or comment on daffodils,

or dare to eat a peach?

Who could look out Billy’s window

or stand silent by a grave with Auden?

Few would dare.

It has all been done

and so well, that only

colossal presumption

could insinuate itself

into the catalogue.

These are the rooms

in the house we call poetry:

windows and doors and walls

scribbled with revered names,

acknowledged owners of the territory..

but in the farthest corner

of the farthest room,

high in the attic, under the eaves,

scratched in minute script, 

are my initials,

honored to be in the house

at all.