Dennis Herrell has been writing poetry for forty years during his adult life as teacher, outside sales person, and, lately, antique dealer. He is like every poet in the world – always in training, and painfully aware of it. Enter his world to read some poems he has had published.
At The Opera
The woman next to me was enthralled,
in fact, the word raptured
better describes her expression.
All her attention was focused on the stage,
where a stout lady wearing strange clothing
shouting maybe singing,
and a funny guy wearing tight pants
with a big bulge,
by a migrating sock,
was yelling real loud and waving his arms
and indecisively jumping back and forth
in front of most of the lady,
who by then was in a state of Italian collapse.
Then they screeched together for five minutes
and fell over separate but united,
if you know what I mean.
So I figuroed that was the end of them
and maybe the world.
I asked my wildly clapping neighbor with rapture
what we had enjoyed so much,
and she said it was opera,
and I said,
you learn something new every day
( 4/10/06 – Backstreet Quarterly)