About this Poem 

“I wrote this poem last summer which was spent mostly getting myself into trouble and listening to country music on my record player. So, I guess this is a little love poem that celebrates the laziness of the summer season and the remarkable beauty of everyday life that much of country music can convey so well.  In addition, I think this poem is also a gentle critique of poetic ambition.”

—Sandra Simonds

Ode to Country Music

Sandra Simonds

If I wasn't such a deadbeat, I'd learn Greek.
    I wouldn't write sonnets; I'd write epics
and odes. I'd love a man who was
    acceptable and conformed to every code.
I'd put together my desk and write my epic or ode
    at sunset over my suburb. How I would love my shrubs!
But all I do is listen to country (and the occasional Joni)
    and smoke. Judge me judge me
judge me. Oh I've been through the shallows.
    I shallow. I hope. I hole. I know
I wrote you the most brutal love poem that knows.

Copyright @ 2014 by Sandra Simonds. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-a-Day on August 19, 2014.

Copyright @ 2014 by Sandra Simonds. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-a-Day on August 19, 2014.

Sandra Simonds

Sandra Simonds is the author of Mother Was a Tragic Girl (Cleveland State University Press, 2012). She teaches at Thomas University and lives in Tallahassee, Florida.  

by this poet

poem
Sometimes I try to make poetry but mostly 
    I try to earn a living. There's something still living
 in every urn, I am sure of it. The ash moves 
       around inside the vase like the magnetic filings that make 
the moustache of Wooly Willy. Maybe a new face counts 
      as reincarnation. The wand says, "I'
poem

Maybe the world will not be saved.
It will not be saved. Its commerce, its
every case also
moves into its geology
and then that geology moves
into some great exit of slowing
clocks and the history of saved light.

Listen, I’m not crazy. I want you to save
something for