This is a series of poems of words that do not directly translate into English. I have tried to capture the essence of the word in a poem
By Thomas Page
My desk sits by the door facing the window
Looking out at the reddening trees and the chopped grass.
The September heat pours into the air with the pullover—
Steamed milk in the coffee—
Battling the air conditioning in my room.
The papers on my desk match the might of the Himalayas
With each peak a different color rising over the fake wood.
The September light fades the paper—
The wrinkles on the faded beauty—
Battling the smudges on my glasses.
The scrawl on the boards mounted on the wall
Foretell assignments that have been repeated like the Gregorian chant.
The September misery exhales like carbon—
The academic blues—
Battling the missings in the gradebook.
My desk jammed this past week
With the passes and perks locked inside.
The September zeitgeist fills the air—
The move from beach balls to pompoms—
Battling the work and print orders.
Language of Origin: German