Free Verse
Ways of Reading
I
remember
the first time
I read poetry
in English
letters grouped themselves
in a random way
pot and pat
were two different words
though they looked
almost the same to me
words like sex
fixed their gaze at me
others like death
made me sit still
between the lines
lay a semantic gap
from one stanza to the next
there was an emotional void
eight years passed
I realized
to read is to be read
I remember
the first time
I read poetry
The
Dream of a Struggling Poet
morning by
morning
I see the same old face
in the mirror
hours upon hours
I write and rewrite a poem
that grows old
night after night
I go to bed exhausted
with a dream deferred
weekly routine
the garbage man collects
my unpublished poems
months gone by
gray hairs pop up
on my head
year's end
I step into the same river
twice
New Year
the same phoenix flaps its wings
in my dream
