“He”–a poem, my 200th post

It was this class, English 399, Advanced Poetry Workshop, that actually led me to cut back on the amount of poetry I was writing. That is not meant to say anything bad about the professor, my dear friend Dr. Jean Anaporte; rather, it just showed me how much work I should be putting into my verse. I had always written verse because it was quick and easy. Once I learned it wasn’t supposed to be, I figured I’d just spend that time writing theory.

“He” is a favorite piece from that time, which  I no longer consider the end of my poetic years.




He, who sat up late nights near finals

In that semester after the passing of his father;

Who worked at achieving a perfect union

of creative written flair and dry business form;

Who saturated his body with sinus meds and caffeine,

Cannibis and nicotine;

Who fell into a rush of The Floyd, all The Wall and its Final Cut,

Atom Heart and Animals;

Who took time to walk into the springtime street

And search for a moon that was not there;

Who had presence enough to return to the keyboard

And faith enough to meet a deadline;

He is the one who hopes that God is understanding,

And widely read.


22 April 2001—English 399

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