A Poem

Correspondence of this sort-

young admirers

hoping for approval,

undivided attention-

discover with great generosity

the most painful

terrifying damnation,

a special poignance;

Young man’s confusion.

It’s a strange feeling that,

writing across time to that desperate

miserable boy,

the urgency and intimacy-

twenty-seven

anonymous,

the occasional tone of exhortation

studded with turning-points-

was particularly acute

composed

lovely

yet far too easy;

too harmonious.

--

--

A blackout poem.

Radio every ship and station:

The President declares a state of war between the United States.
Acknowledge.
Secnav.

Dispatch, radio and telegraph operators
“Let It Go.”

Waiting at the White House across the street,
watching for the signal,
the President rushed out and
dashed down the corridor.

--

--

A Blackout Poem

Fed up for years
with fake stories,
men of inaction knew that the protection,
the dreary program of four long years
was not to their liking.
But it was bringing their big guns into play.
The final combat could only end with
annhiliation.

--

--

A Poem

Working on themselves day and night,

young people use “love” and every kind of communion

to gather themselves,

Yet barely enough.

So often they are impatient.

In all their messiness, disorder, and bewilderment,

their very nature takes hold of love,

And scatters them.

--

--

Elliot Aldwyn

Elliot Aldwyn

Often called The Wandering Man, or L’homme Errant in French, these are my voyages as a writer, father, musician, photographer, and autodidact.