I have written poetry since I got here….since the beginning of last
semester that is. I simply haven’t shown it to anybody. I enjoyed
Sundahl’s workshop a lot, though, so I figured I might as well post
something for some comments or whatnot. I’m not quite sure if my style
is coming into it’s own, or if I am simply still running the gamut of
literary and poetic style. Anywho, this was jotted off the other
night…..as Sundahl says, poetry is not absolute biography, but we
must work from at least some small bit of personal experience, no?

A breezy cobalt blue
wanes to frosty indigo—
And stark black limbs, offhand against
Her evening coat—
Show just where the contours lie.
It’s only the shadows—nonchalant—
Of barren branches
And fading winter lights.
Cold hands—empty—
Side by side
Cannot reach each other
for some way to
Soften lines against the sky.

Yes, I do like Emily Dickinson. In case you were wondering. And if you
weren’t then you should…..because anybody who’s anybody  
knows that she is known for writing with such extravagant–or perhaps
extremely well placed–dashes.