A Pathetic Howl
The dead poet isn’t looking
at anyone in particular,
from his book cover tombstone,
and suddenly “The Collected Poems of…”
sounds more like a condolence
than an achievement, and the words
forsakened instead of profound,
so that no one even dogeared any pages
until being saved from ,a thrift store purgatory.
Then there’s poems like this one
that know they’re a pathetic howl
with no moon for inspiration,
nor a metaphorical leash
to rage against, but empathizes too much
with a stray getting fed once
out of pity, only to return
over and over again,
hoping for more.
A Millennial’s Love Song
Not the one one asks
to help move a couch,
but more of someone guilted
into feeding an acquaintance’s goldfish,
yet I’ll find a way to do that poorly,
only to write a poem about it,
and really, what is a poet
without much of an audience
but another rambling derelict
the local sheriff doesn’t care
enough about to kick in the ass
on my way out of town
or even surrender a sigh?
The Religion of the Bedroom
A bed becomes an alter,
while a one word prayer turns darkness
into god’s backside,
but the shut door makes no parable
among dirty socks, who confused feet with souls.
The walls watch like guardian angels,
waiting for their Jimmy Stewart,
instead of a concerning mole
that once was a harbinger for witchcraft
or the devil’s illegible signature.
Closed curtains with eye tight precision
keep the faith between two between two,
yet there’s also pious aspirations
for not having to peer outside, hoping no one knocks
with the same force as a church bell ending mass.
Richard LeDue (he/him) is the author of nine books of poetry. His work has appeared in the Eunioa Review, Neologism Poetry Journal, Briefly Zine, and other publications, both online and in print. He is also a Best of the Net nominee. His latest book, “It Could Be Worse,” was released from Alien Buddha Press in May 2023.
