{"id":936,"date":"2013-08-08T16:45:01","date_gmt":"2013-08-08T16:45:01","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/?p=936"},"modified":"2013-08-29T16:35:14","modified_gmt":"2013-08-29T16:35:14","slug":"there-i-sat-at-coppers-point-poem-eric-mellen","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/there-i-sat-at-coppers-point-poem-eric-mellen\/","title":{"rendered":"There I Sat at Copper’s Point. Poem. Eric Mellen"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Lighthouse<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

There I sat at Copper’s Point<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0My head lowered between my tattered brown britches’ knees.<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0My shift was over, (barefoot) watching that lonely lighthouse,<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0sandy beige, the same color as my beach hat,<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0and then, on the windiest day in September,<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I remembered.<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Zoo. \u00a0A delicately conscientious zookeeper’s assistant,<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

those sunny days, wild you could say.<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

I ran from cage to cage, feeding–<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

orange.<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

tigers, orangutans, monarch butterflies,<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

all waiting for the feast<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

and treats<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

which they got.<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Hot.<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

The team of cheerleaders,<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

the mist-machines cooled<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

their cheery faces, sweaty<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

and sentimentally proportioned.<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I once gave a rose to one<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

but was shot down.<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Bang!<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

A thousand thoughts collected into one emotion:<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

that disparaged rejection.<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

I knew it only too well.<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The hell, sometimes grieving<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

sometimes relieving me of the boy<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

I was meant to be.<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

And then, there she was.<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

“Sarah”<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

was her name, and no rose for her,<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

not yet anyway.<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

This time a cool chat<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

relieving me of my duties.<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I could go into detail.<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

But suffice it to say,<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

all the animals reveled in harmony<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

with me<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

that day.<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

“Blue”,<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Our love–<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

oh, the romantics would not have thought<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

of a more eloquent combination of words to describe it.<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She died yesterday,<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

And now I reside in this lighthouse<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

where we stood alone, and outside the window<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

I cast a view<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

and recognize<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

the “Blue” that is everywhere around me.<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

***<\/strong><\/p>\n

Bio: \u00a0Eric Mellen is a young freelance writer who currently writes poems and short stories. \u00a0He has been published by Nostrovia! poetry and is currently pursuing multiple publishing opportunities. \u00a0When he is not writing, \u00a0he is studying to under the psychology curriculum, and plans to one day become a clinical psychologist. <\/strong><\/p>\n

***<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"Ellen<\/a><\/p>\n

\u00a0www.facebook.com\/PoetryLifeTimes<\/a>
\nwww.facebook.com\/Artvilla.com<\/a><\/p>\n

robin@artvilla.com<\/strong><\/div>\n
editor@artvilla.com<\/strong><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

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<\/i><\/a><\/span>\n<\/i><\/a><\/span><\/div><\/div><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

        There I sat at Copper’s Point \u00a0My head lowered between my tattered brown britches’ knees. \u00a0My shift was over, (barefoot) watching that lonely lighthouse, \u00a0sandy beige, the same color as my beach hat, \u00a0and then, on the windiest day in September,   I remembered. Zoo. \u00a0A delicately conscientious zookeeper’s assistant, those … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[325,43],"tags":[327,326,18,3,328],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/936"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=936"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/936\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1062,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/936\/revisions\/1062"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=936"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=936"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=936"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}