Saturday, February 13, 2010

In the Style of Billy Collins they Said

It's not really my thing I thought, to write poetry in some other poet's style...but Billy Collins...I love Billy Collins. This really might be fun I thought. And I even have pictures of the lake I'll be writing about. At least I think I do.
Well, even though I know I do have pictures of the lake, and recent ones at that - do you think I can lay my digits on them? Of course not...and I have much to do before I wing my way east early next week so will settle for this secretive looking cabin I snapped a shot of in the river valley here. I think it suit this poem also. At least it works for me and I guess at the core, that's really all that matters.


Before the moon is fully set each night at Belmont Lake
I stick silicone disks in my ears, then crawl off to bed and sleep
And, like a hibernating bear, I become deeply unconscious

My cottage country slumber is dreamless, and so deadening, I believe
Mario Puzo’s infamous horse head could be laid bloody on the pillow
Right next to me and still I would remain lost to Morpheus

I don’t know that you could make me an offer I couldn’t
Refuse, such is my love affair with somnolence while here
In this place, but I am hard-pressed to explain this odd devotion

Perhaps I come here to seek a much-needed ‘go to ground’ asylum
A sanctuary as private as any accorded the clandestine Cosa Nostra once
One so secluded that an animal might hie to it seeking restoration

Musing over my Cheerios my final morning at the lake, I wonder
If I’ve remembered to pack everything, especially those earplugs
And my DVD’s; I still think Godfather Two was the best of the bunch



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