By chance today, I found a packet of poems rife with comments. This was no ordinary packet. My senior year at Western Kentucky University, I asked Dr. Tom Hunley to comment on this packet & help me decide which poems should be included in my application to the MFA program at Rutgers-Newark. I’m so thankful for his comments. I got into Rutgers & to this day, I’m still benefiting from what Dr. Hunley taught me. With that being said, today while reading through the poems in that packet – my poems – I couldn’t help but chafe & giggle at some of them. In one poem, I have line breaks that I can’t quite explain or justify. In other, I use the phrase “this child” so many times, the poem sounds more like a creepy exorcism. Some of the poems are downright outlandish while others just need a little more control. All of this is to say: I’m so happy I found this little time capsule of my experiences as a learning poet. I’m proud to be able to say that as an undergraduate student I was taking risks, making mistakes, but always, always fully committing myself to the poem. And to be fair: a few of those poems have gone on to appear in publications like StorySouth and Barnwood Magazine & other poems may very well end up in my thesis.
And because I have a demented sense of humor, here is one of the poems from the packet. I have to admit. When I wrote it (my junior year, I think) I thought I had it going on. Now, I just now that I was.. going. If you’re in the mood for a chuckle, read it – after the jump.
The High Note by Saeed Jones
Seraphim are some jealous bitches
said Satan, pouting on his way down
through that crack in the clouds
while the giggles of tone deaf cherubs
nipped at his warming skin.
Interesting, he thought.
This is new, he said.
God had always wondered about the chill
Satan’s kisses left behind, lingering
like spotlights on God’s bare neck.
Wait ‘till they get a load of this,
Satan sighed while wind rushed
between his burning thighs, fire
snaked and squirmed beneath his skin.
The feathers that cried and departed
from his wingers were singed like soot.
And in an ultraviolet room, God explained
that this had been a matter of song,
of hitting notes not meant to be punched.