The Glenmore Sessions is Joseph Fulkerson's debut collection of poetry. In it you'll find his unique musings on life, love-both found and lost, and the human condition. This collection documents a time of great upheaval, of self discovery and rebirth that we can all relate to.
The Glenmore Sessions is Joseph Fulkerson's debut collection of poetry. In it you'll find his unique musings on life, love-both found and lost, and the human condition. This collection documents a time of great upheaval, of self discovery and rebirth that we can all relate to.
21 Grams
Lately I've been thinking about my own
mortality and just how fragile life can be.
They claim that at the time of death,
when your soul leaves your body,
you lose twenty-one grams of weight.
If we're counting, that's eight pennies
Or fifteen paper clips if you will.
That's nineteen jelly beans.
Better yet, one hundred raindrops
on a chilly autumn morning.
It troubles me to think that everything that
makes us unique carries so little weight.
It seems so insignificant.
When I die, I want the sun to supernova
and the earth to spin off its axis.
I want the oceans to be at rest
so the tide never comes back in.
When I leave this earth, I want people
to wonder how they could ever
go on in my absence.
Twenty-one grams isn't enough.
My soul feels so much heavier than that.
The Free Spirit
As she danced,
the whole world danced with her,
swirling around in step
with every movement she made,
with every flit of her hair,
every stolen glance.
She danced to remember,
she danced to forget.
She danced so she would live again,
so she could believe again.
She danced because she had to,
it was in her and if she didn't
it would come bursting out of her
like an atom bomb,
her own personal Hiroshima.
As I watched, I was surprised, aroused,
confounded, captivated...
For with each movement of her body
and twirl of her hair
she was born anew.
The Pretender
Oh great pretender,
you have everyone fooled.
Everyone that is, but me.
I see through your facade.
You can't blend in
no matter how hard you try.
You put on your hat
or that uniform,
and you may wear them for a while
but none of them fit,
none of them feel like you.
Oh great pretender,
how foolish you are
to think that I don't know your secret.
Longing to be where you belong,
what a tragic waste of potential
that lays at your feet.
Oh great pretender,
you must take heed
post haste
don't waste another day
knowing
knowing
knowing
that the biggest catastrophe
in your life was the day you
decided to settle for second best
at best, giving up on blazing your
own path, creating your own truth,
resigning yourself to hem the inseam
of another man's vision.
When I read a poetry collection, my desire is to know the poet by the time I read the final piece. I crave an insight, a journey, no matter how small, something I can recognise because I have seen it before in my reflection; and allow it to move me.
Fulkerson’s debut poetry collection, The Glenmore Sessions, achieves just this. His words made me laugh, made me smile, made me think and brought tears to my eyes. At times he writes about the perils of drinking too much alcohol, in ‘Frank’; or our collective loss of innocence as the years roll by, in ‘Sonic Youth’; or the bittersweet taste of nostalgia, in ‘Springsteen’. Writer and reader fluctuate in and out of giggles, deep thought and the reveries which sting as Fulkerson reveals to you his inner fears, queries and qualms. Some of the best pieces are incredibly succinct: ‘Kissed the Heavens’ and ‘The Anatomy of a Poet’ are worthy of a standing ovation.
Fulkerson has mastered his craft and created a collection which is clearly of the 21st century and yet warms you through with the whiskey of history as you make your way to the end. In today’s world where anyone can wield an image with a few words and call themselves a poet, I am happy to say Fulkerson really is a poet. The kind we’ve been reading for years; intelligent, original and human.