Blake Leitch Poems

Who I’ve Been (from 2016, archived)

I’m a fan of pro wrestling. I’m what wrestling fans call a smark – a (usually derogatory) term for someone who’s a fan of the product while knowing a good deal of the behind-the-scenes terminology and information. I’ve been a fan for some 15 years now, and I imagine I will be for the rest of my life.

I’m a writer. When I was 14, I wrote a ‘Heal The World’ style song in response to a natural disaster. I hoped it would bring something between hope and change, but it got lost to time. I’ve considered myself a writer for some 10 years, and I imagine I will for the rest of my life.



I’ve given up the Fig Leaf,

I got a new haircut, trimmed my beard

I’ve given up the Chapel,

for the dream of hopeless possibility.

I’ve given up the idea

I was born ever-curious

that Fault was in an apple.

to Cupid’s vocation.

I’ll argue every day

I accepted, many years ago, my nature

that The Effort must improve,

and the futility of looking past my heart.

yet the thought of hopelessness

The hopeless romantic

near to tears did have me move.

herein resides.


He Was My Brother/A Cause

He was my brother
Five years older than I
He was my brother
Twenty-three years old the day he died

Pick out a number,
choose any one,
pick out a number;
any number’s too soon for that loaded gun.

Freedom writer
They cursed my brother to his face
“Go home, outsider
Mississippi’s gonna be your buryin’ place”

Take a stand
for the cause of your heart.
Dirt is dirt,
and any land’s the right place to start.

He was singin’ on his knees
An angry mob trailed along
They shot my brother dead
Because he hated what was wrong

Heaven is near’ to the ground,
Hell is closer to the heart.
Synchronize to the angel’s sound
and live a life and death the better part.

He was my brother
Tears can’t bring him back to me
He, he was my brother
And he died so his brothers could be free
He died so his brothers could be free

Pick out a number;
it didn’t matter before.
All that mattered
was the heartbeat and the just cause.

To Balto, To Togo, To All The Good Boys

When Hell froze over,
you sprinted for infinity.
Granted, to run
seemed your sole affinity,

but simply doing
your simple love
made all the difference
‘tween nil and enough.

So thank you for Nome,
and thank you for hope;
may you ever tread prints
in the freshest of snow.

© Blake Leitch April 10, 2019