Tim Gavin
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
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The Coldest May Since God Knows When

Rating: 4.5
And I sit here, hearing a muse snicker,
Informing me that I’ll never compose
A poem worth the time wasted on it.
I pace the floorboards and listen
To Bob Dylan; he can inspire
The most drab of us. I think of him
As flee bane growing wild in my garden,
Having that special something. I think
Of Hart Crane and his reckless love
Affairs; I think of John Berryman
And his madness; I think of Emily
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COMMENTS
Michael Shepherd 02 September 2005
Maybe you underestimate yourself. As a reader, I was ready for a serious dedication at the end rather than a deprecatory one. Leave that to the British!
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Poetry Hound 22 January 2005
Tim, this is quite nice. I appreciate the literary references even though it looks a little bit like name-dropping, and I love the copy machine metaphor. And I like that you cover more than one topic in the piece - your father's disdain, the temperature, etc.
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