Photography © Glenn Bowie

 

Poet

I suppose you’re a poet whether the work’s good or
not
That one doesn’t get paid for what’s given, obsessed
over
That what comes out, has been stored collectively by
humans
And you are only the body they’ve shifted it to:
bloom
From the Greek word poiein, to make. (And not, to
publish)
Emily Dickinson made, and made, on discarded
envelopes
A more humble term, sayer, was once used. That’s a better
fit
My Grandfather named Sayer sang to us every
morning
Nut trees provide a bumper crop. One squirrel may bury and
forget
I stuff poems in journals, hard drives, bits of paper, winter
ready
We do not know, what, if anything will make it to
spring
No one judges a tree, questions if it’s good, we know
it

 

Katie Kemple writes poetry, works freelance radio gigs, and helps raise two humans, an elder pug, a carnival goldfish, and a clew of compost worms. She’s married to the love of her life. Her poetry appears in various places on the internet.

Glenn Bowie is a published poet, lyricist and photographer from the Boston area. He also owns and operates an elevator company that supplies custom-built elevators for clients from New England to Hollywood. Author of two poetry and photograph collections (Under the Weight of Whispers and Into the Thorns and Honey) on Big Table Publishing, he donates all profits from his books to various charities for the homeless and local animal shelters.