I am still saddened by the passing of Leonard Cohen, whom I consider to have been the consummate lyricist of our times. I recently borrowed from the library his posthumously published book of poems, notebooks, lyrics and drawings, The Flame. I have been leafing through it, trying to decide if I want to buy it.
The first section of the book is titled "Poems." It features pieces of varying length, almost all of which feature short lines and the use of rhyme. This is not a style that I have used much in composing my own poetry; but, in honor of Saint Leonard the Cohen, I though I'd try one:
HERE AND NOW
Life has provided
no answers.
And death does not
promise a cure.
Sleep brings the danger
of dreaming.
But I wake to a pain
that is sure.
I still carry my phone
with me always,
though there’s no one
now here that will call.
With “always” and “never”
coequal,
I hope what I’ve seen
is “it all.”
no answers.
And death does not
promise a cure.
Sleep brings the danger
of dreaming.
But I wake to a pain
that is sure.
I still carry my phone
with me always,
though there’s no one
now here that will call.
With “always” and “never”
coequal,
I hope what I’ve seen
is “it all.”
