In an ongoing series, the editors, former contributors, and readers of Eclectica have been invited to write a poem containing four pre-chosen words. The words for this issue are pocket, reveal, ruin, and wake.
If you would like to participate in the next special poetry assignment, the new words are azalea, labor, hollow, and loss.
(These are excerpts—click on the title to view the whole poem)
Ghost Of My Grandfather
I am surrounded
by a Chicago of condos—
its melting pot
getting milk toast.
Hindsight is Heinz 57
Smoke in sun, a light blue incredible thing
suspended about each diner's eyes and nose
and through the floating pockets everything
remembered a bit younger.
My Pocket Venus, here's my vow—
I'll be here when you wake.
Peeling the Onion
Henry has retreated to his hibernaculum
leaving his weapons behind.
Touring Giverny with Claude Monet
Your bridge is beautiful, I gushed.
I'm in a car traveling south
out of Chicago, and I leave the city so seldom
that everything out the window fascinates me