Samples of poems in the third person as an alter ego

Here are two examples of poems written in the third person. They are essentially about the writer (keeping in mind that they are not necessarily factual but remain truthful). Seeing one's self as "out there" as opposed to within one's own head can be liberating. I certainly would not write these in the first person for reasons that are not fully clear to me other than not wanting to own up despite knowing that poems are less factual than they are truthful. It's a peculiar art.

Remainder Asleep

His dreams are ferocious

as Homer, the pit bull he had to put down.

They come at three in the morning,

drool over his dark face.

Homer’s odyssey ended with

a needle in a leg vein,

a strangle loop around his neck.

Reminder knows he won’t

fight so, will embrace the gods

that swarm from the depths

to surround him and hustle him off.

He admires Homer’s willingness

to bite and then strut across the deck,

black body glistening as if in a pose down.

He was beautiful, without guile,

aggressive without apology.

Five times he tasted Remainder’s blood.

Unable to wait for the animal

to devour him, Remainder unhappily

euthanized the beast. He regrets

the dog’s death more than

any human’s he can think of.

He is normal as any man:

“People are so hard to love,” he says.

He puts his head down to welcome

his predatory dreams. In the half-light

he becomes the hound,

on his hind legs lopes confidently

toward the next victim.

Copyright, Emerson Gilmore, January 2008

Jobhunter Reads a Book

Unaccountably Jobhunter is optimistic.

He feels good, ready to work

He begins to believe his name

has been Heartpatient all along

and Heartpatient is just now

after three years really able to work.

He wants the Simpson job,

can taste it with his spine,

knows where he’ll buy coffee

on his way in and wine

on his way home.

Interviewing, the karma was abundant,

palpable as his depression.

There are no other prospects.

He dreams about past jobs and bosses--

these are not nightmares

but not good and he tries to use them

to temper his optimism

but fails and thinks something

big is about to wash ashore

before the transmission in the Dodge

halts again, before his wife

loses her job, before Kuloff and Abrahamson

tracks him down for not paying

his credit card bill. He tries to deny

denial, be objective to prove he’s objective.

The layers in his head overwhelm

so he resumes reading Moby Dick,

sits by the phone waiting for a call from

the Simpson headhunter and reads

how Ahab kills the great whale.

Copyright, Emerson Gilmore, January 2008