LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
CAMP Poetry |
by Hiram Larew |
ONE MORE THING There should be a prize For the best name in town For the one that more than any other Barges in before we are ready Or acts like prism light does on our face Or tamps dirt down Like in a story A name that gets things done Without us There should also be a blue ribbon Right in the middle For the most enjoyable place we know of The sort of spot that's muddy with ideas And that won't stay put but for a minute Somewhere that's deeply lovely Because it hasn't learned a thing yet From its mistakes And smells like ferns do sometimes Most of all there should be a nice medal For the kind of friend Who says so Even when they shouldn't Who looks at you up close And often As if you're a fool And thinks of you Later on long after By frowning. TRAVELING Do you have any idea What you mean to me Because I surely don't And I never want to All I want is a smeary sense Of what you are Like the only lamp on In a room I have no chance at all Of being equal Especially when you stutter Or are not here Or when you sit down alone to read Everything I'll most likely do Started near your nose And I still just can't believe How split you've made me feel Like water in a fountain Promise me this at least Promise me that for as long as can be I won't get anywhere close To the very top of you. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 11, No. 9, July 13, 2001. |