A Nod To Derry’s Son

This piece was originally published by The Closed Eye Open in February, 2022. I hope you enjoy this addition to my portfolio, and let me know what you think. Interacting with this post helps more people see my poetry.

Subscribe here:

Join 717 other subscribers

A Nod To Derry’s Son

Derry, New Hampshire was the longtime home of Robert Frost. This poem is in dedication to my favorite poetry book: North of Boston, and his poem October.

A nod to him whom attended Lady Derry’s autumn tempests, gyrating orange and red and yellow leaves, dancing alongside stone-walled pastures, caroling in voices divine.

Beneath a chimney smoking, her singing overheard, the man north of Boston, stirred.

With his pen he picked and plowed and tilled her mysteries, and, in return, a thousand rhythms’ ineffable conceived expression.

Her rolling hills and tree lined cathedrals, he interpreted.

In his toil, she delighted.

For he, the Poet, penned psalms performed by the winds and cries he earwigged from her cold, autumn skies.

To him whom attended Lady Derry’s autumn tempests, a nod is given.

—W. Alexander

Other Writings:

I’m Published in The Closed Eye Open

Hi, friends and readers, subscribers and first-time-site clickers. I have big, beautiful news to share with you. I published in The Closed Eye Open, which is an impressive literary journal boasting beautiful art and great writing. If you’re looking for something new, creatively speaking, to delight and inspire you, I recommend reading The Closed Eye Open.

Inspiration for A Nod To Derry’s Son

Do you love Robert Frost? Do you love living in rural, picturesque New Hampshire? Well, I can say yes to both questions. However, Frost’s faithful are found anywhere-but-local; his admirers span the globe. This is credit for writing poems which painted and printed specific images of a noble New England countryside. He wrote about a land hard and untamed, but where solitude is easily found. He showed us inside beautiful and brief moments of times fleeting and mortalities remembered.

There was a time when all I ever knew of New Hampshire was Robert Frost. Now that I live here, I experience her, this state, through his voice. These leaves and lakes, rivers and mountains, still sing for anyone who will listen.

Before I met my wife, Frost’s lines were the only images I had for reference. I compare this experience to what I imagine it would feel like discovering Rivendell is a real place. Wink!

And that’s what this poem is about: it’s not just an ode to Robert Frost, but an ode to his Muse —New England herself. Derry is a town, it exists today, and it takes me about an hour-and-a-half drive from my home in Wolfeboro, NH, to get there. This whole state is a beautiful, even magical place. No wonder New Hampshire is considered an artist’s paradise.

How To Read The Poem

You’ll read my poem online on The Closed Eye Open’s website. A Nod To Derry’s Son, by W. Alexander.

Join 717 other subscribers

New in Art

Portrait of _________, by W. Alexander

I clocked thirty-nine-hours creating this piece. Not one minute of time counted was paint drying. Nope! I made this on my new iPad with the apple pencil in photoshop. You can view this piece and other creations on my gallery page. Soon, you will be able to visit view my entire portfolio in Virtual Reality. Follow to stay-in-touch.

Tell Your Friends and Fellow Creatives About Me

Go ahead and repost, comment, share, email, whatever, my post to anyone who you know loves writing. Together, let’s share sweater words and write better worlds.


More from W. Alexander

The Day god Died: Chapters I & II

“…I hated him and his kind. I hated his affluence, his expensive clothes, his chiseled looks, and the arrogance he was born too. But most of all, I hated the power he held over me, his assumption of authority, and the truth of his superiority.”

My wife featured in SKATING Magazine

Most of you don’t know that I married a celebrity (Olympian and professional ice-dancer) and that we, now, abode in picturesque New Hampshire. Recently, she interviewed for SKATING Magazine. I will brag on my wife every chance I get.

Escape Second Death

This poem was originally published in June, 2021. This is my first published work. I am reposting it on my blog, because hundreds of new followers may have not seen it. Together, we have come a long way in six month(ish). Honestly, I’ve received so much positive feedback over the past year that I just had to send this emotional poem out into the world again. Let me know what you think in the comments. Click here to read the original post.

This poem is published in the poetry anthology, Its Not Easy by Poets’ Choice.

Six feet under sixteen tall lilies, Man considers eternity.
Eternity’s ears hear no more the lamentations from Man’s regrets.

Regrets forgotten even by sixteen green stems, but Time—the grave gardener.

The grave gardener mows not, plows not, and sows not; He litanies.
He litanies as earth buries her one truth: Man wastes with worms.


Worms tunnel the clay and mud and brains and veins of Man’s forgotten pains.
Pains the gardener annals away, to be read on heaven’s judgement day.
Judgement day, asterisk of eternity, hour saved to open graves.
Graves untilled will break open—Man soars above lilies; He’s heaven’s chosen.


Follow Me for More Content:

Join 717 other subscribers

N.L. Blandford: On Writing

“People can shy away from topics because they are hard, and it can be easier to call them dark, rather than truth, or an aspect thereof. I believe that it is in the dark that we can really start to understand the true nature of our world and its people.” —N.L. Blandford

The Day god Died: Chapters I & II

“…I hated him and his kind. I hated his affluence, his expensive clothes, his chiseled looks, and the arrogance he was born too. But most of all, I hated the power he held over me, his assumption of authority, and the truth of his superiority.”

Forlorn Light: Virginia Woolf Found Poems, by Nazifa Islam

Photo Credit: Shearsman Books

Forlorn Light: Virginia Woolf Found Poems by Nazifa Islam

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Nazifa Islam is your once in a generation poet. It’s no easy task to re-map the words of the great Virginia Woolf. Forlorn Light: Virginia Woolf Found Poems must have been both a challenge and reward to write. I think it’s quite clear Woolf and Islam share kindred souls. Their works deserve to rest side-by-side, forever conversing with one another, sharing the same shelf for generations. Islam’s book is their wedding—poetically speaking (pun intended). Forlorn Light is worth your time to read.

I warn you: read Nazifa Islam and you will be changed. Islam writes with phenomenal prowess about undressing and accessing the naked truth of the bipolar experience. Several poems left me exposed and shivering, as if I were in front of a mirror which reflected what’s inside the reader. The images I discovered moved me to tears. And, the more I studied, the more I understood myself. I know I will never be the same.

Read this book or miss out on something great. You can purchase it here:

Happy Reading!

Join 717 other subscribers

More from W. Alexander

Book Review: Ordinary Genius, A Guide for the Poet Within

Join 717 other subscribers

Ordinary Genius: A Guide for the Poet Within by Kim Addonizio

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


I found Kim Addonizio’s book fascinating. I had very little knowledge of what made good or bad poetry before reading this. For example, I never knew the rhythm underneath the iambic pentameter and many more meters. I love poetry; I love writing poetry; I love reading poetry. I wanted to appreciate this divine-language-of-the-gods more, because the more you know, the bigger your writer’s toolkit. So, therefore, much of what Kim covers can be adapted to your creative writing pursuits.

This book is a must-read for anyone curious about writing poetry, or like me, who desired a more intimate understanding and relationship with the craft. After reading this book, you will have quite the sophisticated understanding of how poetry works. It is worth buying!

The book is, also, replete with great examples. I do think even the most accomplished poets will enjoy this book.

I definitely recommend it to my fellow creatives, and anyone else who wants to get poetry. In fact, the first poem I wrote after finishing the book was published—link below. Thank you, Kim, for your inspiration, encouragement, and introduction to all things poetry. You changed my life!

Happy Reading,
www.w-alexander.com



View all my reviews

W. Alexander’s Published Poetry:

Big Moments Count

Photo: W. Alexander, 2021

Hello, and welcome my readers, followers, subscribers, cyber stalkers, Russian hackers, and anyone else who finds themselves reading my blurb. Like you, and every other humanoid, I’m just as self-obsessed and self-consumed with my life and reality, and, like you, I steady my aim toward that-ever-close-or-distant American, white-boy success, dream. So, engage and celebrate with me and forgive my little boast. For, I request a toast.

Above, a rare photo of me wearing the latest in I have yard work to do fashion: work boots, Star Trek: Next Generation socks—out of laundry, sweat soaked old-man-polo and, of course, featuring accents of grass. My hobo looking ass is sitting where my driveway meets the street. Seconds before my wife captured this moment, I grabbed the mail and read a package-slip from the publisher. My heart stopped. To hell with the yard, I thought to myself. I sat down and tore through packaging. Inside it was my poem. Well, the poem is on page 15, but it is not about the poem, it’s more than that: it’s my first writing ever published in a book and people can buy this book. Is this some grand accomplishment? No, but damnit I feel grand, and I want to enjoy it, and I want to share this moment with you—yes, You! It’s no small feat to trust that people really want to hear my voice.

I set a goal in January that I would be published twice before 2022; I am halfway there. So, go ahead and imagine Bon Jovi level excitement at my house. I feel gratified, even relieved.

Trying to publish, so far, feels like dating. Shew! So, please, help me give myself a bathroom-mirror-thumps-up. My publishing virginity is taken. Big Moments Count.

Now, I promise not to annoy you any longer, but a major part of accomplishing something is to bask in it with your friends. I lack those, but I have readers and that is sort of the same thing but better. Thank you for allowing me, and helping me make possible this giant, little step in my career as a writer. This blog is, after all, about my writing journey.

—W. Alexander. I wrote this high—on life, lol.

P.S: I just don’t know how to explain the feeling I felt when I first read my name, my words, on a physical, published book. The best I can do is say it felt like those moments in life where we sense magic; those days where every bone in your body feels good, and there is laughter and love overflowing, and you know how great that feels. I feel that.

You’re welcome to subscribe and follow me if you haven’t yet. I’m not always charming, but I like to think I share interesting things.

A Nod To Derry’s Son

Derry, New Hampshire was the longtime home of Robert Frost. This poem is in dedication to my favorite poetry book: North of Boston, and his poem October.