Berryman, Poet of Oddlots

It's spooky: the mother's sherry sadness,
a son typing love letters above a notary seal,
daughter's husband waxing warm with waiters
tipping his children with interchangeable
color lenses until his sob-sister
wife, hands up- surrenders her half a breath to call
a cab for him to get as always, away.

Berryman knew about spooky, could
catch that warp, match wolf with howl,
tossing rue's pins with sharp percussive wit;
his scathing sense of slight, word honing
to chiseled precision a steely stiletto call
strong enough to lure arcane ghosts from thin places.
Surrounded, the breathless juggler
jumped from a Minneapolis bridge at 57.

^

Biography

Worked with poets reading their work for Caedmon records. When my grandson was born, I not only started to concentrate on writing, but acknowledged I do write. Last year I received second place in 92nd Y Discovery/The Nation competition, will have some new work on apples and oranges, and currently am in an advanced poetry workshop of Martha Rhodes at The New School in NY. Last summer was at Poet's House in Donegal Festival.