The Sunday Poet: Daniel Senser

Daniel Senser

"Hi. My name is Daniel Senser. I am thirty years old, and have been serious about poetry since I was eighteen. I was a Biology major in college, and was struggling in my classes and getting frustrated, so I picked up The Iliad one day at the library. After reading it, it reignited a love of poetry that had roots in my childhood, when my dad used to read poems to me. Besides Homer, some of my influences were Borges, Levertov, and Billy Collins. I also went through a faze where I was really into old Eastern poetry. I have been published in the Penwood Review, Ship of Fools, and California Quarterly, among others. Hope you enjoy these poems"

Autumn

Near death, the leaves of Autumn
Begin to fall, much like these words
Now fall upon your ear.
And when they turn brittle
And crumble, and turn to dust
 Enriching the earth,
The breath of the wind--
The breath of your soul--
Will answer for their deaths
With the promise that life goes on.

Phalangeal Advancement

The innocent and charming hysteria of my eyes

Served nicely as a diversion for my hand

Which rose up like the tide upon the sand

Of the inner portion of her stubbly thigh.

Before I could reach the cavern

Carved out in the underside of her short black skirt,

She cried out, “Don’t!”

And as the sea follows Poseidon’s commands,

So my hand was halted for the moment.

“Trust me,” I said, sounding more like a boy than a man,

“This hand is pure as the guitarist's upon the strings—

Let me tune your soul to your own best liking,

And to mine, with this hand.”

She lay back, eyes closed, smiling.
The sea rushed in, filling the cavern,

Which, for the briefest of moments,

Teemed with the life that I wanted for her.

Adornment

Naked, she needed no adornment
Except for my flesh.

The garden in her eyes grew lush
Under the sunlight of my own.

Together, we constructed many shapes
Till, exhausted, we collapsed into the humid jungle

Of our united oblivion.