My Poetry Year: Entry #33

In which Your Humble Blogger salvages a couple scraps from the month of August:

"Dinner for Two"

Two people sit
in the corner
close to the bar,
isolated
by candlelight
into their roles,
their silverware
sustaining the
conversation,
scraping the plates.
They drink the wine
as if tasting
for some poison,
although they know
the toxic test
still waits outside
in the blank face
light left by so
silent a moon.

* * *

"The Attic"

All our good moments
Have been filed neatly
Into letters and
Pictures bound by the
Dank architecture
Of the attic frame.
They've just about been
Forgotten into
Echoes. Even now,
We sit walls apart,
And our voice slump
In unlit corners,
Each one answering
Only its own sighs.

* * *

Double whammy today! Both poems are syllable-dependent, once again. I think I like the second one more. These are the only two scraps from the work trip in August of 2010 that I believe have any worth. (From the start of Comic-Con until the beginning of September, I wrote eight things total, several of them only three lines long. That's not the writing output I was looking for at the time.) I would've posted these back on Friday, but that last post, filled with all of that babbling and explanation, had already gotten too darn long.

But as it is, there shouldn't be too many people here reading this today anyway. Take care and be well; if it's a holiday for you today, hope you get to celebrate with some loved ones while paying tribute to those who have earned it.