A handful of poems I published in 2022

Despite a whopping 23 rejection letters.

A wise man once told me — a younger, quixotic poet — not to let the lure of getting published distract me from the work of a genuine writer, namely: writing.

I have attempted to heed that advice, resolving to spend far more time reading, writing, and revising than submitting for publication.

(I have also striven to keep in mind the oft-repeated simile that publishing a book of poems is not unlike dropping a feather into the Grand Canyon and waiting for an echo… 🥲)

Even so, when kept in its place publishing can be a gratifying part of the writing life. I was pleased this year to have twenty-some poems accepted by various periodicals, lit magazines, blogs, and even one anthology.

Thus, to close out 2022, I’ve gathered 6 of my favorite of those poems to share for your year-end reading pleasures — and, perhaps, to offer a lead or two for future submission efforts.

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Driving at Night

Out here, the horizon has sunk
to the humble reaches of headlights,

which bore through the boundless darkness
the way a fish darts through its lake
(straight on, heedless of all other lakes)

or the way a spaceship slips through
time, so quiet. Out here, the sky
has swallowed the prairie entire,

the lamps of distant barns like stars
from forgotten constellations, guiding us

home and so far from home. How strange
it feels to travel at the speed of light.

Published in the 2022 Scurfpea Publishing Poetry Anthology

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Dill Soup without the Dill

When I swallowed that cold spoonful
of milky potatoes and onions,

I could tell you had not
tasted the soup yourself.

It was not unlike the way you like
to recommend books you haven’t read.

But that’s fine. I know
you know I like to read.

Published in Ekstasis Magazine

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Red Light

Stuck in traffic again
long enough to remember
that we’re hurdling
around a flaming star
at sixty-seven thousand
miles per hour in a galaxy
of one to four hundred
billion stars in a universe
of two trillion galaxies
in the mind of God.

Someone is blasting
blink-182 behind me.
And the man in the car
ahead stretches and slides
his right hand under his wife’s hair
to caress the curve of her neck.
She’s looking out the window,
watching a jogger and
a golden retriever go by.
The light turns green,
cars resume their cursing,
and I have never felt less alone.

Published in North Dakota Quarterly

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Blessed Zephyr

Spirit, breath, wind
surging in multitudes
of ripe sunflowers
like electricity

lifting blackbird
and raptor and
the damp coal nose
of a buck.

Laughter cracks
the face of the deep
lake (tongue-inflated-cheek)
and every last

stalk, shuck, and kernel
rattles like a holy
plaything. Never inert

because never deserted
to that quietude
tantamount to
oblivion.

Published in The South Dakota State Poetry Society annual contest, third place winner in the landscape category.

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The Seagull Scans a Fallow Field

The seagull scans
a fallow field
in search of God

knows what.
Have you lost your way,
mistaking this God

forsaken wilderness
for the shores you were
created for?

Perhaps you were gulled
by the Prairie
waves into believing

that you had discovered country
good for more
than flying over—

maybe even a place
to stay; it's okay,
so did we.

Published in Solum Journal

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Welcome to the World

You will not remember how she cradled
you beneath the budding maple tree
your first week on Glendale. How she
turned her back on the horizon to keep
the day’s sharp last-light from waking you.

Yes, you will sleep for some time yet.
You will not remember the chickadees
in the bush nor the swell of the wind
nor the sound of your sister conjuring
things in the cut grass. I am writing to

remind you of that day she found a
castle in the front yard, and the wind
smelled like a glass of water, and there
were chickadees chattering in the bush.
She held you in the shade of the maple
tree like an antique vase, yet you were
astoundingly new and sound asleep.

Will you believe me? One day you may
think it a dream. Just remember, I was
there. I am writing to remind you that
you were too.

Published in Third Wednesday

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Merry Christmas from Conversant

P.S. In the spirit of Christmas, here’s a lovely version of the carol “In The Bleak Midwinter,” which was originally a poem by Christina Rossetti.

Merry Christmas 🎄

Cameron