Tag: Crockford

(Warning: May contain spite.)

Solemn opening with a particular visual object

that is symbolic

yet

seemingly inexplicable.

Emotional complexity builds, gloomy and relentless.

There will be no exclamation points in this poem.

The object has increasing feeling for

the narrator, and is sexual, but also bleak

and existential-

somehow.

No need for feeling and passion here,

this is art.

No room for that in poetry anymore.

A highly enigmatic and quiet, desolating ending

that leaves the reader amused and vaguely

contemplative.

 

Conor Crockford, USA

My cat and dog

lean over their bowls

and drink the cool,

clear water together.

The cat laps at the liquid

with dignity

and quiet.

The dog, meanwhile,

lashes at the water,

leaving vacant stains on the floor.

Yet I am not sure which

is “better”:

the cat,

refined in her

small sips,

or the dog,

mouth gulping,

the bowl

threatening to topple;

for she is so wild,

ecstatic in her need

for the water,

so full

of life.

 

Conor Crockford, USA