Title-ating

One major component of my poetry is the titling. Titles to me are a s important as anything found in the actual body of the poem. Because of this I spend as much time and creative energy in coming up with a title as I do with in other part. I have some standard types of titles that I like to use. One is the circular title. The poem "The Present" is like that. Taken on its own it has two meanings, the current moment in time and a gift. The third use of the title is the circle. When the end of the poem is read the title can bee added to complete the line. Therefore, that particular poem could end with, "This is the present." It doesn't have to, but it can.

Another type is the etymological title. I will pick a word, or group of words that I like for the title and then look them up in the dictionary and find the original language roots of the English words. This makes for some interesting sounding titles. An example of this is a poem I wrote that talked about light and I titled it "Leoht" from an original language root for the word light. I just liked the way it sounded better than the way the English word sounded.

Some of my titles are miniature descriptive poems in and of themselves. These tend to be very long. Keep an eye out for those in a future post.

The title of this poem is similar to the etymological type, but it is definitional. There is a certain thing that is the main focus of this poem and, rather than just name it in the title, I give you the definition of what it is in the title. It adds a little bit to the mystery and, in my opinion, makes it more interesting.

So, while you are reading the poems take a moment, and enjoy the titles.

Condenses in Drops on Cool Surfaces at Night

Mist-covered slopes
and there you were,
reflections of sunlight inside.
A whole shining world
that shimmered and whirled
with each breath of a floating butterfly

I reached out to grab,
the illusion ran,
splashed-down hiding place in the soil-covered sand.
A tear imitates,
but your beauty is gone,
and the mist cleared by some swift hand.


Another mist
and there you slept,
in the folds of a summer green leaf.
Joyful reunion
found you again,
awash in ecstatic relief.

Softly cupping
this new found home,
I, so gently, lift leaf away.
Trying to save
you sunlight-kissed,
leaf withers and your presence fades.


Another slope
and there you are.
kissing the fragile tulips tip.
Stealthy approach,
cautious I kneel
stare into your great, gleaming depths.

How to hold you?
How to touch you?
How to bring you deep inside?
Words peter out...
Silence grows loud...
Sweet secrets slip soft as they float, flitter, fly.


Mist-covered hopes
and the smell of wet spring,
sit still willing you not to flee.
Sounds barely heard,
not even quite words,
in the silence I hear what you speak.

In my silence I hear your heart speak.

Keep silent my heart, hear her speak.

Speak.

written 3/18/99 by Jeff Couch