James Sennett Jr. has been captivated by poetry for as long as he can remember, always pursued by the muse, which reveals itself when least expected. Writing has become a lifelong calling that he cannot resist. His work has been featured in various respected publications, including The Louisville Review, The Thinker Review, The Birmingham Poetry Review, LOU Today, The Taj Mahal Review, The Journal of Expressive Writing, and Poetry Superhighway. Upcoming works are set to appear in Star 82 Review, The Main Street Rag, Rundelania, DarkWinter Literary Magazine, and Poetry Pacific.
Skin
Wrapping us
with security.
Warmth.
Allowing us
to move around,
sometimes in funny ways.
It does bruise
when accosted,
bleed even.
The purple recedes
eventually.
Gets us close
to communion,
almost.
The container
must breathe
if it’s to do its work.
What is the work?
To hold in
or to let go?
Fear
lives like a nasty rash
you can’t get rid of
but resides with you
just the same.
Ugly putrid itching.
You can’t quite shake it,
but it likes to dance
with you nonetheless.
Twist you into knots.
Occupy all your time.
It has to be
to survive.
And survival
is the universal mandate.
Blinding you
from seeing light,
beauty
possibility.
Madness
is not about anger
or sadness
but the absence
of connection.
A bath in isolation.
Wet with confusion,
cold,
no towel.
Naked,
grasping,
scrambling
just to rest
for a moment.
Foul Language
gets your attention
if you listen closely.
Intended to shock,
knock you off balance,
meddle with your sensibilities.
Anglo Saxon sleight of hand.
Pisses off all the right people.
Instills fear in the lonely.
Used to provoke,
command a hearing
when a point needs making.
Lives on the edge
of civility.
You can’t erase it.
It’s too powerful
and way too useful.
A balm for frustration.
Exclamation for feeling
and trying to understand
the ineffable.
Death Wears a Hat
while working.
Blocked,
creased,
jaunty;
worn with flair.
So much so, you never notice.
But fits in with all the hubbub
and hoi polloi.
Patrolling the streets
smiling.
Looking for treats.
The easy fruit.
Say hello
but keep walking.
The Galway Review 