Guest Poet Carol Burkhart
How did I not see the splendor?
I only felt the dusty bake,
And need of rain. A dry, brown place
amid dead fields and shrunken lakes.
Kith and kin deceived, I fled
To grandeur known as Good Time Isle,
A playground for singles and misfits;
Tangerine suns and love beguiled.
Neon sands to strut and plunder, Scattering lust on
Watching girls dance poetry
on sidewalks of smoke, tears and lies.
A decade echoes my return
Across bayous and new dug graves-
where pain thickens like chokeweed. Pray
For my wicked and wanton ways -
Sing me songs by the river's edge
With pole and line, I co-reside,
Wanting undeserved forgiveness
The darkness of your eyes decline.
Carol Burkhart's questions:
I am mainly interested in comments about meter. I am currently studying poetry and would like to have input into
how to better construct this poem.
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