By David Martin
You Must Be There
the music is playing
and it sounds like heaven
so you must be there
the night glimmers when
you slip on that white dress and
we hold each other close
our love moves to the rhythm
and the temperature rises
as the floor becomes ours alone
one two three one two three
we keep pace with each other
together our hearts create tomorrows
this is our song
everything we feel we are
let’s dance like we mean it
Here he comes
running into this moment
we have on a sunny morning
from beyond the darkness of sleep
from a time of warm shadows
from the happy sprinting which moves
the dry pages of my book
and drops the necessary facts of life
like bones at my feet causing his black eyes
above a panting tongue and wet nose
each holding a caring passion for me
and I can almost hear his words in between
his rapid fire barking
“ruff — ruff — ruff”
let’s walk now
3. Now Is the Write Time
If Ted Kooser can send poems to Jim Harrison,
now is the “write” time to compose a verse for Vince McAndrew.
He motivates me to elevate my thoughts.
I can’t explain this situation.
I don’t even write rhythmical composition.
It is a darned hard thing to do.
With Kooser’s model and Vince’s acceptance,
I will write a poem every . . . , well, whenever I feel like it.
Then, I am going to burden him with their interpretations.
It doesn’t matter if he comments or not,
because I know he will have better things to do,
but having an audience is better than pitching horseshoes.
Beware: we have a poet-in-progress, and
he is a card-carrying member of Over Writers Anonymous:
No Fear — No Perfection — Only Progress.
This new poet may attempt William Kloefkorn’s
“Snowball Theory of Composition:
Inspiration, Perspiration, and Compression,”
which will create little treasures
without a Map Quest app to move molehills,
if not mountains.