It has been a very long time since I have written poetry, but back in the day I self-published three chapbooks of poems.
The first was was written and published in 1975 in New York City, titled California Weekend.
You can find copies on rare book sites ($35??? I priced it at $1.50 when I published it!)
And now it is included in the Columbia University Archives in New York.
Anyway, perhaps because I am in a period and age in which I am reflecting on what I have done and not, I was moved by the sound of roofers to write a poem today, and here it is:
Roofers
By Tim Lennox
Their rhythmic hammers
call out.
There's likely no musical intent, though who knows?
Tap tap tap tap tap tap.
The nails hold a new roof to a house a half a street away.
The worksite barely visible
through a hole in the leaf cover.
I see no workers, but I hear them.
I imagine them too.
Are the voices accented?
Tap tap tap tap tap tap
descanso para comer,
tap tap tap.
Or am I bringing my own preconceptions to the scene?
Are they trapped tap tap tap in this job tap tap tap?
I strain to see more...it is in the 90's this June day day day.
Are they shirtless, their skin dark enough to handle it
tap tap.
I could never do do do
what they...Tap tap tap.
If Armageddon were to strike tonight,
who would you want want want more?
Them, to keep the rain out.
Or me, to cry cry cry?
The first was was written and published in 1975 in New York City, titled California Weekend.
You can find copies on rare book sites ($35??? I priced it at $1.50 when I published it!)
And now it is included in the Columbia University Archives in New York.
Anyway, perhaps because I am in a period and age in which I am reflecting on what I have done and not, I was moved by the sound of roofers to write a poem today, and here it is:
Roofers
By Tim Lennox
Their rhythmic hammers
call out.
There's likely no musical intent, though who knows?
Tap tap tap tap tap tap.
The nails hold a new roof to a house a half a street away.
The worksite barely visible
through a hole in the leaf cover.
I see no workers, but I hear them.
I imagine them too.
Are the voices accented?
Tap tap tap tap tap tap
descanso para comer,
tap tap tap.
Or am I bringing my own preconceptions to the scene?
Are they trapped tap tap tap in this job tap tap tap?
I strain to see more...it is in the 90's this June day day day.
Are they shirtless, their skin dark enough to handle it
tap tap.
I could never do do do
what they...Tap tap tap.
If Armageddon were to strike tonight,
who would you want want want more?
Them, to keep the rain out.
Or me, to cry cry cry?
Lovely poem, lovely sound effects, I can almost hear the roofers working away on this hot day.
ReplyDeleteGlad you’ve re-discovered your poetry gene. Or jeans like your roofers might wear. Armageddon is a fitting connection to the heat. Or maybe Armageddon is cold? You made me think. That’s what poetry should do.
ReplyDeleteThank you for the comments!
ReplyDelete