Found some old poems
written when I was a university student,
thought myself being smart
inside a dusty library,
where silence camouflaged loneliness
and ignorance. Books smelled
of aged pages, over thumbed-
nothing like my old poems
that reeked of a plastic bin,
which sat quiet as a coffin
for years, but no resurrection,
just a grave robbery
motivated by boredom
and a new interest in recycling paper.
Richard LeDue currently lives and teaches in Norway House, Manitoba, Canada, where the winter nights are long and cold. This is why he writes so much poetry in the winter months, but he also hates the heat, so the summer months also prove productive. It is almost a guarantee that any of his work that speaks of nature is based on pure hearsay.