The Fat Poet
  • Illustration for the poem If Somewhere, You Remember Me: a man beside a fire on a sea cliff gazes at the full moon, a woman's face formed in the starry sky

    Poems from a heavyweight

    What a man carries,
    set down on paper.

    Poems for the private hour, the long way home, and the body slowly learning to stay.

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    If Somewhere, You Remember Me

    For I have heard it said that certain souls are born of one flame, that distance may divide their bodies but cannot teach their hearts the art of forgetting.

    — The Fat Poet

    Since 2019, and counting Free to read, always New verse, no schedule
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  • If Somewhere, You Remember Me

    If Somewhere, You Remember Me

    For I have heard it said that certain souls are born of one flame, that distance may divide their bodies but cannot teach their hearts the art of forgetting.

    ,
  • Another Universe

    Another Universe

    Perhaps there is a universe where we chose differently, where time did not put its hands between us, where the years were kind, and love was allowed to remain.

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  • The Proceedings

    The Proceedings

    Later he spoke truthfully about grief, and the walls themselves seemed embarrassed for him. Someone coughed. Someone closed a ledger. No one looked him in the eye again. After that he learned procedure. A man must drag himself through life without allowing the chains to make noise. He must bleed internally. He must decay in…

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  • Where We Meet

    Where We Meet

    We met where edges soften and names fall away. No yours, no mine only the quiet between that keeps widening. A small gesture becomes a doorway. A glance, a whole sky. What we call love is just this the dissolving of distance we imagined was real.

    ,
  • Laughter Between Us

    Laughter Between Us

    I have known silence with many. Heavy silence. The kind that asks to be survived. But with you even silence smiled. And I think of this often, how some people arrive not with thunder but with a laugh that makes a place feel warmer. It is a small thing, laughter. Men say that. They are…

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  • Summons

    Summons

    Sometimes I think we have met already in another arrangement of sorrow, where the stars made no accusations and time did not feed on itself. Here I answer only in silence. What else is left when love arrives as an apparition and asks to be believed? Your voice reaches me from the side of existence…

    , , ,
The man behind it

I write the poems
a big man
keeps to himself.

Poetry has spent a hundred years being thin, pale and hungry. Somebody had to write from the other side of the plate.

Owen Sesaldo - The Fat Poet
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