[Stylist] ***Spam*** a poem

[Janet Dinola Parmerter]

This is the kind of poem to be read over and over and given some meditation time.


From: Stylist <stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org> On Behalf Of Chris Kuell via Stylist
Sent: Monday, December 5, 2022 2:28 PM
To: 'Writers' Division Mailing List' <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Cc: ckuell at comcast.net
Subject: Re: ***Spam*** [Stylist] a poem

Hey Annie,

I really enjoyed this poem-especially the last 2 lines.
Thanks for sharing,

Chris


From: Stylist <stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org<mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org>> On Behalf Of Ann Chiappetta via Stylist
Sent: Monday, December 5, 2022 1:47 PM
To: 'Writers' Division Mailing List' <stylist at nfbnet.org<mailto:stylist at nfbnet.org>>
Cc: Ann Chiappetta <anniecms64 at gmail.com<mailto:anniecms64 at gmail.com>>
Subject: [Stylist] a poem

At Sixty-Five
Henri Cole - 1955-

It was all so different than he expected.
For years he'd been agnostic; now he meditated.
For years he'd dreamed of being an artist living abroad;
now he reread Baudelaire, Emerson, Bishop.
He'd never considered marriage . . .
Still, a force through green did fuse.
Yes, he wore his pants looser.
No, he didn't do crosswords in bed.
No, he didn't file for Social Security.
Yes, he danced alone in the bathroom mirror,
since younger men expected generosity.
Long ago, his thesis had been described as promising,
"with psychological heat and the consuming
will of nature." Now he thought, "This then is all."

On the rooftop, in pale flickering moonlight,
he pondered the annihilated earth.
At the pond, half-a-mile across was not
too far to swim because he seemed to be
going toward something. Yes, the love impulse
had frequently revealed itself in terms of conflict;
but this was an old sound, an austere element.
Yes, he'd been no angel and so what . . .
Yes, tiny moths emerged from the hall closet.
Yes, the odor of kombucha made him sick.
Yes, he lay for hours pondering the treetops,
the matriarchal clouds, the moon.
Though his spleen collected melancholy trophies,
his imagination was not impeded.

Copyright (c) 2022 by Henri Cole. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on December 5, 2022, by the Academy of American Poets.

Henri Cole
Henri Cole was born in Fukuoka, Japan, in 1956 and raised in Virginia.

Ann M. Chiappetta, M.S.
Making Meaningful ConnectionsThrough Media
914.393.6605 USA
Anniecms64 at gmail.com<mailto:Anniecms64 at gmail.com>
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