image via

image via

Three Poems by Alan Semerdjian

by | November 29th, 2011 | 3 comments
Print Print
about the author

See more articles by

after Saroyan

The War Department is a bucket of rain
we left out on the porch.

Each day the water gradually disappears
like family members

after holiday dinners; one by one
the sleep takes over them

until the bucket is emptied, the soldiers
all returned to Ithaca.

This, of course, can only happen in summer
when the heat simmers

all memories dry. But oh the winters,
heading to and returning from,

the bucket seems forever filled, heavier
from the weight of it all.

* * *


I once had a crush on the word
how it moved in and out of my life
          its slippery cil rounding corners

and rubbing up against the hard con
     how I misused the word
on more than one occasion
          meaning almost clear

at once here and never here
     there but never somewhere.
And though the past may sound
          a lot like history

it was about love, and it’s always
     about love, this forever
balance of stretching and returning
          this push and pull

like some sad scavenger hunt or
     tug of war for the soldier
never quite back and the object
          of his affection

like a word broken at the syllable
     the need for more space
her always here, her never left.
          This is how it goes.

Time ends up making a postcard
     from him to her
and two rooms on either side
          of the world

his boots heavy with memory’s lead
     in one bed, her need
to reconcile in the other, and me
          still in love

with a word, with an idea
     all of us
are so desperately
          trying to understand.

* * *

Two Towers

Bending around the highway
slicing the horizontal still: two towers.

The sun between verticals then later
blinding two towers.

Radio spitting fire, the correspondents
still for two towers.

History and historians, two towers
in and out of focus.

Birds circumnavigating
clouds above two towers.

Not sure if maybe on
a clear day but two towers.

A flag for two towers; a pin
approaching a balloon.

The idea of two sinking
then rising – the towers

out of the sink, the sink
rising up from the towers.

Two dogs, off leash, proud
down avenue C: both towers.

Two memories swaying, window
open revealing towers.

On the way, photoshopping covers
with towers, a plane to catch.

Two lovers shouting their heads off:
two towers.

Two apartments, blocks, trains,
miles to go from two towers.

To build or not, to cry
or always cry for towers.

Forgetting two towers, then one,
then another, then none.


  1. These poems are wonderful, Alan. Thank you for sharing them with the world. I wish you continued success in shining your literary light upon the world and elevating our consciousness. Cheers!

  2. Raffi Wartanian says:

    Awesome Alan! Keep ‘em coming!

  3. Sylva DemirdjianSdemirdj says:

    I like your poems, but the poem “Two Towers” is a little repetitous with the words “two towers,” but still a good poem. Thank you for your time and consideration.