Poetry — January 15, 2014 15:04 — 3 Comments

Writing Poetry – James Brantingham

Not so much a writer at a desk
Under a dim lamp’s green shade
More like a stump puller
Log chain tied to a
Jacked up flatbed truck
Groaning granny gear
Dynamite when required
Shovels and pickaxes
Pry bars and levers
Digging under the roots
To free the stump
From the soil and rocks
Roots bared for all to touch
The perfect word finally found

Bio:

James Brantingham has been publishing poetry, short stories and translations since 1969. More recently, he has been published in Crab Creek Review, ZYZZYVA and is a frequent contributor to The Monarch Review. He has published 3 short books through Seattle Small Books (On Ancient Paths, Ritter’s Crime and The Winnowing Fan) and is currently finishing a 4th book titled Traveling Light. Two sons and two grandchildren light up his life.

3 Comments

  1. Susan says:
    January 16, 2014 at 10:52 am

    Well done — the stump has been freed!

    Reply
  2. Patricia Brantingham says:
    January 19, 2014 at 11:03 am

    Wonderful… I know that feeling (but couldn’t have dug those words up out of the roots to express it)! Wish I had gotten some of the poetry gene.

    Reply
  3. Krystal Teale says:
    April 25, 2014 at 9:44 pm

    Love it! You totally hit that nail on the head!

    Reply

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What am I?

Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies

Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,
Consequence;

Scientists can't find me.

Januswise I make us men;
Glamour
Was my image then—

Remind me:

The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…

Tick, Tock: Divine me.

-- Richard Kenney

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