There are people on the street
who beg for money,
but I offer them food. Often.
Sometimes they reject it, and I know what that means.
So do you.
“…and I realized that poems were mirrors made of words, a place where you looked to catch a glimpse of your own face, whoever you might be. When that happened, the rhythm and the sound shook you up better than music and you felt as big as the world, or bigger, like there was no such thing as loneliness. I even started writing poetry of my own; I figured it was better to be mediocre than silent.”
—A. Manette Ansay
“Why I don’t Like Poetry”
A few years ago my wife and I were lucky enough to go to Australia. I went on a six-city speaking tour (I teach attorney ethics) and Trudi joined me. We got to see some unique areas of the country including the Northern Territory.
One of the natural structures that attract tourists there are the termite mounds– large dirt-colored mounds created by termites. In the NT they look like wide, branchless trees that measure anywhere from a few feet high to a dozen feet high. At least that’s what the mounds we saw looked like.
We had to drive several hours outside of the city of Darwin into the Litchfield National Park to see the termite mounds. The drive was a little scary for a New Jersey-raised kid like me. It was a long ride over rolling, desolate country, and there was little sign of life on the trip. When I read this poem by Mark O’Connor, I thought to myself… Yup. That’s the trek I remember.
The full poem could be found in the online Australian Poetry Library.
There’s only one appropriate way to start my blog about poetry. It’s to post my favorite poem!
Find the full poem here.