168th Virtual Poetry Circle

Welcome to the 168th Virtual Poetry Circle!

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock’s books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don’t like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

Also, sign up for the 2012 Fearless Poetry Reading Challenge because its simple; you only need to read 1 book of poetry. Please visit the stops on the 2012 National Poetry Month Blog Tour.

Today’s poem is from fellow blogger Amy Durant‘s Out of True:


You said,
someday, you’ll write me
into a poem.

I laughed. 


You open me, you
crack and spill me like
an egg, I overflow like
a basin forgotten outdoors
in a rainstorm.

In this moment, I would
stand outside, waiting
for you with a bouquet of 
typewriter keys, the stems 
cocooned in newspaper.
I would woo you with my inky palms.
I would win you with the words behind my teeth.

But to cover the raw, glistening 
truth, the vulnerable core,
the place where I live,

I said, you don’t want
me to write about you;
you couldn’t trust the words.

Poets’ tongues are fat with lies.

What do you think?


  1. Very nice poem indeed. I loved it!
    Kailash´s last blog post ..A Song of Ice and Fire – 2 – A Clash of Kings (9/10)

  2. I loved the images in this poem, the bouquet of typewriter keys especially. And that last line is awesome. That last line alone could lead an entire discussion.
    Anna (Diary of an Eccentric)´s last blog post ..Mailbox Monday — September 24

  3. Beth Hoffman says

    Adore the visuals in this one! When I read “I overflow like a basin forgotten outdoors
    in a rainstorm”, those words triggered a memory of my childhood on the farm.

    I loved how the poem swirled in a tender/romantic way … and then the wonderful slap-in-the-face last line was just perfect.

    Thank you for introducing me to Amy’s poetry.

  4. I actually liked it. Not sure about all the meaning, but I enjoyed it 😀

  5. The final line reminds me of something Jean Cocteau said “the poet is a liar who always speaks the truth ” Beware of the the idea of wanting to appear in an artist/writers work you may not be able to comprehend how you’re perceived. The poem as a whole made me think of Brian Patton’s poem A blade of grass

    You ask for a poem.
    I offer you a blade of grass.
    You say it is not enough .
    You ask for a poem.

    I say this blade of grass will do.
    It has dressed itself in frost,
    It is more immediate
    Than any image of my making

    You say it is not a poem,
    It is a blade of grass and grass
    Is not quite good enough .
    I offer you a blade of grass.

    You are indignant.
    You say it is to easy to offer grass.
    It is absurd.
    Anyone can offer a blade of grass.

    You ask for a poem.
    And so I write a tragedy about
    How a blade of grass
    Becomes more and more difficult to offer,

    And about how as you grow older
    A blade of grass
    Becomes more difficult to accept.
    parrish´s last blog post ..The Best Words In The Best Order.