jacob erin-cilberto, originally from Bronx, NY, now resides in Carbondale, Illinois. He has been writing and publishing poetry since 1970 and currently teaches at John A. Logan and Shawnee Community colleges in Southern Illinois. His work has appeared in numerous magazines and journals. erin-cilberto was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in Poetry in 2006-2007-2008 and again in 2010.
a different question of balance
do poems feel?
we write all these words
transcribing our sad or happy thoughts
the paper receives them with no complaints
no burden, always room for more
but once they are complete
and we have completely released our pain or joy
does the poem itself feel.
is it hurt when misread ( i doubt it, probably happy just to get attention)
does it feel the blues..like the color of ink used to write it?
(maybe it wishes to be in red ink--like the color of a stop sign,
signaling, "stop reading me----my pain is none of your business!")
only the poem never owned the pain, the poet did
and the poem only borrows, has to give it back after it is written.
does the poem really feel joy? (i doubt that too---those letters
picked at random, are probably so tired of being used by the muse,
they just feel annoyed)
do poems love---
(only if we let them)
is it fair to release all of our feelings into poetry
and not let the poems have their own feelings?
(i doubt it---)
but then perhaps it's just my ego
not allowing that poems could have feelings too---
they are using us.
and they are asking themselves...
does this poet (Really) feel
all of what he or she is putting
my lips nearly bleed
from the power of your kisses
osculate me till my bones
feel it down to the ones in my toes
your lips' signature
mind blowing unsaid words
hang upon your breath
as it seeps into mine
and we collide,
eyes slightly closed
sewn into each other's being
until we retreat
and our eyes communicate
the feeling, with the words
we exchanged a moment before
without uttering a sound
other than that simmering exhale.
wander into your mind
specifically intended to be
so that you don't catch me looking
but your vision is peripherally perfect
and you still wonder
why i stand at the edge
hesitant to come towards you
in more than just thought.
©2014 jacob erin-cilberto