Feature: Charles C Brooks III Day 2

Nights at the Plantation

At eleven-years-old
my great-aunt
gave me coffee.
Staying overnight
I slept on the screened porch,
cool in that gentle dark.
Waking, breakfast,
it felt like the life
of a prince.

Extracurricular criminals
we plotted on leather couches,
smoked where Civil War
soldiers once posed for a picture.
These are unmentionable evenings
made from semi-automatic weapons
and Maker’s Mark.

A blue lady filters through,
then saunters across
the room. Dead come here.
A house breathing,
the unfeeling brick
speaks at night.
Ghosts watch us sleep
and whisper
gibberish.

© Charles C Brooks III

**** **** **** ****

Q&A

Q: How do you define poetry in general?

A: Poetry is like jazz. Poetry is the blues. Poetry is math. Poetry is prayer. As a prose writer I can say that poetry is the ethereal sister of art. It’s metaphysical and common man. It doesn’t deserve superiority or disrespect. Poetry is an island.

Q: Tell us something about yourself that not many people know about you.

A: I wrestle bears to stay in shape.

Q: What are your goals as a writer/poet?

A: I want to keep doing something I love. I have a book coming out, “Whirling Metaphysics”, and that alone is a major goal of mine. Next I’m switching gears back to a novel-in-progress. I hope that both get a foothold in this fickle game of literature.