There's an artist that lives nearby
the parking deck I patrol. I pass by him
selling his colored pencil landscapes
and portraits each evening,
ten bucks each.
When he smiles I see he is missing
a bottom tooth. I bought one
of his pictures when times were better,
a self-portrait in charcoal.
He didn't sign his name, just the word
"unforgiven."
Each night at seven, from the top floor
of my deck, I watch him
pack up his pictures in an accordion
portfolio and shuffle home,
past the courthouse,
past the television station,
past the isolated trees
and groves of newspaper stands,
until he walks around the corner
out of sight behind Triple-A Bail Bonds.
Each night, at seven fifteen, his absence
is a gaping hole on the sidewalk,
a cavity in the mouth of the city.

Enjoy your voice, Michael. Welcome. Like your directness, your line breaks as in "When he smiles I see he is missing" and their lowkey humor, as in "a bottom tooth. I bought one"--then the return of the dental image at "a cavity in the mouth of the city." Nice writing. Tom

this-

is great

well played & welcome

Much enjoyed Michael - and welcome

k

Enjoyed this a lot Michael, especially the surprise return of the tooth in the tail, nicely done. Unlike Tom, I had a little problem with some of your line breaks. Example:

When he smiles I see he is missing
a bottom tooth. I bought one
of his pictures

pack up his pictures in an accordion
portfolio


This is a fairly common technique, to set the reader in one direction and then yank them back with the line break, and though it can be very effective (and I do try to use similar effects from time to time in my own writing) it feels out of place with the quiet tone I hear elsewhere in the poem. Maybe just me.

Nevertheless, I really enjoyed this, thanks for sharing.


B.

(btw, consider nixing "gaping" from next to last line?)

This is just me playing with what you did.
Just a suggestion to remove some of the repeated pronouns.

I think it's a lovely poem. Really lovely.


There's an artist that lives nearby
the parking deck I patrol. I pass by him
selling his colored pencil landscapes
and portraits each evening,
ten bucks each.
When he smiles I see he isthe missing
a bottom tooth. I bought one
of his pictures when times were better,
a self-portrait in charcoal.
He didn't sign his nameNo signature, just the word
"unforgiven."
Each night at seven, from the top floor
of my deck, I watch him
pack up his pictures in an accordion
portfolio and shuffle home,
past the courthouse,
past the television station,
past the isolated trees
and groves of newspaper stands,
until he walks around the corner
out of sight behind Triple-A Bail Bonds.
Each night, atby seven fifteen, his absencethere is
is a gaping hole on the sidewalk,
a cavity in the mouth of the city.

beautiful

Great job..welcome
Thanks
Michael

thank you for the welcome.
I am in the same poetry club as sherry thrasher (you should read her stuff) and i loved this afternoon's exercises.

I can hear you read this Michael and I do like it more and more each time.  I think Dorianne was very impressed as well.  I do like Lavonne's tinkerings but I'm unsure about removing his absence.  I'll think on it but I am happy to see you here. Keep posting, OK?

Sherry

Michael, I like the way this flows, the pace of it, the feel of it, the tone.  I like the fact that I am as concerned about the observer as I am about the observed.  The "Each night" boredom of it and the exact timing; the "except for the grace of god," feel I have of the observer; the necessity, to exist, that he must work in such a place, one step above [more or less] than the man with the missing tooth.

A pick for me.

lynn

Welcome Michael,

And this has evolved since you read it on Sunday.  I do like the return of the 'cavity/tooth' imagery in the final line and I think Lavonne has some excellent suggestions for tightening.  Like Brian, I stumbled with some of the line breaks...they felt too random in places. 

Just my thoughts,
Tim

Michael,

I forgot to mention the title. I think it's a little weak. Are you deliberately alluding to James Joyce? If so, I would go the whole hog and retitle " Portrait of the Artist as an Old Man". If not, I'd change completely.

Just a thought. I do like this poem, despite my constant griping!

B.

And, see, I found the title enlightening as a self portrait of the observer as he observed.

This honor, to be able to select a poem for poetrycircle’s front page, only comes around every few months for each floating editor, and Michael T. Mayo’s “Portrait of an old man” is my choice for this week.  A while back Oleska, in his comments upon the choice he made that week, wrote of the difficulty he had in arriving at a final choice, and I agree—there are so many fine poems from such varied voices—opting for one is nearly impossible.  Perhaps it is age, or aging, an examination of where life lands us, whether on the street or on an upper deck, that drew me in, and continues to draw my respect for this poem, but I find mastery in the poet’s ability to create a self-portrait of the narrative voice of this piece as he observes and details the portrait of the man down below. 

In keeping with Oleska’s example of providing links to those poems he found close contenders to the final selection, I’m listing links as well.  This week, I intentionally skipped re-reading many of my favorite poets here on the site with a goal in mind of finding the less often exposed writers and their work. 

~

Kris Rhodes, In Reverse, We Do Not Die
http://www.poetrycircle.com/index.php/topic,2191.0.html

This is my precise philosophy—this continual recycling of energy, of form.  But agreement with how I think about things is fractional as to cause that I so enjoy this poem.  The brevity, the cadence, the sounds Kris creates, never mind the content, is, to my way of thinking, timeless.

~

Sherry Thrasher, Meter
http://www.poetrycircle.com/index.php/topic,11062.0.html

This one rings all my bells. 1) It deals with a ghost; 2) it deals with food; 3) the details are perfection.  Not one to know diddly squat about meter, I’m assuming it’s perfectly right.

~

jonnie diegelman, Whenever I drive by vineyards
http://www.poetrycircle.com/index.php/topic,10919.0.html

I like this poem, but the like goes way more when I find “vines will stubborn with raisens” – I could quote another line here in keeping with my fondness of this poem: “It always happens” when I find a modifier used as a verb in the best of ways. 

~

Griffin Smith, Sunlight on an Open Phonebook
http://www.poetrycircle.com/index.php/topic,11011.0.html

I suppose I’m drawn to details of this portrait, how they could add up to something other than profound love and a beautiful mind—but they do just the opposite.  The noted physical imperfections, the lack of perfect niceties with a phonebook to tear pages from for wiping up—stacked against the eagerness of anticipating a pea, the regrowth of a turnip, the miracles of life—make this a gem of a family portrait.  “he opens a hard-boiled egg / like it was a letter home.”  I mean, how much more reverence can a man have for what he holds in his hand.  Lovely, lovely poem.  I have the same sense with poem as with my featured poem pick – the portrait is of the viewer as well as the viewed.

~

jamesthomashoward, Robert Cunningham, who collapsed and froze to death on duty
http://www.poetrycircle.com/index.php/topic,10925.0.html

Ok.  So there’s the resonance of postal at opening and ink-well at end, and there’s the “paper letters tissuing to small thin hushes” and “his head on the pillow of the path” and all the harsh realities of a difficult life put to page in crisp language and honest hard ways, while simultaneously gentling this poor, real-life man to his death.  (A few reasons I love this poem.)

~

Lynne Bassler, Our Map
http://www.poetrycircle.com/index.php/topic,10892.0.html

“an impossibly neat rectangle of folded world” and phrasings throughout this poem make me want to stay in the moment created, stay in this world where the genuine voice and honesty are never lost.