By tully | "Boredom at Its Boredest" by Michael Tully November 9, 2005 at 12:07AM


Poetry is, quite simply, the most thankless form of creative expression in today's modern world. That cannot be argued. And while most of us who write novels, make movies, and play music, know that we probably won't be able to support ourselves by our creative endeavors alone, poets have NO CHANCE of making a decent living at their craft. It is a dying art form that only the most dedicated soul would dare to undertake.

My brother-in-law, Eric Moss French, is one of those dedicated souls. After spending his twenties trying to find his true creative voice (acting became music becameā€¦), he eventually landed where he'd started so many years before: Poetry. I've been reading--and loving--his poems for the past several years, but with his most recent batch, I realize that I'm witnessing a major new voice beginning to fully blossom. It's a wonderful and inspiring thing. The best part is that he knows it too (not in a cocky way, of course, but in a way that lets me know there is sooooooo much more good stuff to come!).

This poem takes my breath away. I just read it for the first time last night, but I can't wait to memorize it so I can listen to it like a song when it's no longer in front of me. Of course, it strikes an even deeper chord in light of recent events, but more than that, it captures, with such simplicity, one of the deepest, honest, truest feelings that a person can feel. I have full confidence that you will agree with me. Enjoy. (No biggie, but perhaps some of you can leave feedback to let E.M. French know that his words have not--and will not--go unheard or unread!)


Sinatra is there
for you,
in stereo,
in the wee
small hours

when you hit that age
your father was better suited for,
the one that really
turns you,

just enough
to remember
the girl
across from you
in grade school,
ever across from you

walking home
across from you,
her skirt tapping
at her knees,
the sun all
over her,

she's yours,
go talk to her
maybe tomorrow,

tomorrow is yesterday

and for today

they made