Top Five Poems of 2011

So here are my favorite poems I've written in 2011.

This is a fun thing to do at years end to look at what I've written. This was by far my most prolific year, and so it's fun to look back at what I've done. These are the five poems I like the most.

5. Women's Work

This one is probably the most polemic poem I've written. I dig.

4. The Way to Galilee

I like this one a lot. It's one I worked on a whole ton, and I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. It's not a style I use much, and it's tough to take on spiritual topics with out sounding cliche.

3. Esau/Jacob

I like how this two poems relate to one another and make one piece. They were fun to write, and a style I want to use more in the future.

2. Lazarus

This is one of the only form poems I've written, and picks up up on the idea of resurrection which was a theme of mine early in the year. I'm real proud of this, and it's about a topic I aspire to write about as much as possible.

1. Lake Louise, 1990

I wrote this as a birthday gift for my sister, and at first I thought it was just a solid poem. The more I've looked at it, the more tight I think it is. It's definitely the style I want to be associated with as much as possible. I dig on the particular note of nostalgia and line breaks. Also noteworthy, it's the only poem in my top five that doesn't have anything to do with my faith.

Thanksgiving: Otters and Steamrollers

[this is from a prompt from Graham: something in 3rd person, with otters and steamrollers and some element of nihilism.]

Morning by morning,

New mercies I see

Otters and steamrollers have long had enmity
over the basic structure of the Universe. Otters
pull trout from swirling streams, gnaw the fins
so as to avoid loss of their catch.
Blood drips down into the shallow ripples over gravel bars.
This is education: placing meaning behind
phenomena. Otters observe with keen eyes
how the current takes the drops.

Steamrollers see no meaning.
Their heads hang, eyes dropped
straight and down. Learning
is knowing there is nothing
aside from the pavement ahead. The crushed insects,
mashed into the asphalt are no longer bugs, they’re pavement.

At Thanksgiving, the steamrollers have difficulty
sitting still, keeping quiet, when the family goes
around the table saying one thing each:
what they are thankful for. Steamrollers
raise their voice with angry assertions
that there is no point, and that gratitude means nothing.
These are followed by long quiets. Otters take time—
cleaning fur, searching for something to say.
Otters have never repeated their thought;
year after year they find something new.

The Wolves Came Back

The Park had adjusted:
elk grazed lazily; bison reclined
in dust baths, talked about the weather; coyotes
sat-up straight on rocky outcroppings
looking over the expanse.

Wolves came back
like they owned the place.
The herd’s eyes grew two sizes,
they became flighty and paranoid:
constantly looking over shoulders,
muscles taut ready for sprint.
Big bulls became stoic and stern,
flared their nostrils, lowered their shoulders
and presented arms.

Coyote’s tails curled down
between hind legs
as they slunk back
into the shadows.