Want seduced Ignorance,
creating a singular silence,
a deafening heartbeat
that grew stronger,
becoming aware
of the barrier between
internal and external.
Displacement
from the external
yielded wondrous
observational treasures
greedily gobbled up
in cold, detached manner
until external forces
compelled the barrier
to break,
forcing the two entities
separated by
winter moonbeams
to mingle in
direct sunlight.
This new existence,
as frightening as it was fantastic,
compelled the once cocooned
to battle instinctive nature
to hide and protect
perceived vulnerabilities
while simultaneously
striving, straining to
compile and catalogue
countless new
external wonders
rapidly and thoroughly
as if time itself
were the enemy.
His mother
named him
after his father.
A perfectly ordinary name
for such an imperfect
ordinary birth.
***
Written for NaPoWriMo’s day 11 prompt: write a poem of origin (not just location, but emotionally, spiritually). I think this covers the essentials. I thought about going big and bombastic, but I felt that keeping it simple would be the more complete approach.
Once content with affixing my fate to another’s will,
blissfully ignorant of the destination, gleefully
glib along the journey, suddenly I found myself
cruising along the gash of rainforest between
the Olympics and the Cascades, within a sea of green
and grey and greying, as if awakening from a dream
a persistent, insidious dream born from the mind
of another person, incapable of acting upon it.
We sped by the soggy world on a grey asphalt ribbon
as I became aware of the world spinning right past me
I didn’t choose to be here – not directly, anyway –
but I cheated death in relentless pursuit of someone
else’s dream destination; I’d forfeited my own path.
I was stranger to myself; ignorant of my own power.
There’s a saying around here; if you don’t like the weather,
wait five minutes, and then kill yourself. It was meant to be
darkly amusing, but after waking to my wasting of
my twenties, nestled within unending wet wintery darkness
of the United States’ armpit, waiting to die, the humor
was long lost on me, leading to a glacial resolution
Gradually, one resolute, measured drip at a time,
I began waking, slowly thawing my dreamy ice-prison,
taking full measure, exerting my will upon my own fate
The sunset pierced the clouds to the west,
bathing the left side of my face in warmth,
producing a double-rainbow to the east
as rain continued to pelt our shuttle.
Mamma told me when I was a child
that sunshowers meant that the Devil
was fighting with his wife. That visual
filled me with fear, but I dismissed it
as I got older. Now I’m not so sure.
“I already love it here!” my wife said,
beaming ear-to-ear. I remained silent.
“I love the rain! Isn’t it amazing?”
“No,” I said, “it’s not. But give me some time
to adjust. I think I can make this work for me.”
***
I.
We are born with no expectations
needs are another matter
connections are made and broken
attachment chains us to fallacy
nostalgia affixes our affections
regret is an illusory gift
II.
I knew you had another
saw you kiss him, looked away
saw through your lazy lies
embraced an empty peach pit
knowing that I deserved it
and perhaps, even less
III.
Told you I’d walk my “friend” home
you saw us flirting, looked away
ignored my brittle excuse
you waited in our empty bed
as I fumbled her darkness for light
leveraging for fullness
IV.
Briefly escaping her fiancé’s warmth
she incinerated herself upon a stranger
telling herself it doesn’t count
thighs crush demands for clarity
trading vows on embers of virtue
fading blissfully into warm sunset
V.
No one deserves anything
ready yourself to release infinity
embrace, learn our broken landscape
most hymns sung are incomplete
from revival to wake; no joy without sorrow
we own nothing, for we are everything
***
Written for NaPoWriMo’s day 7 prompt: write a poem of gifts and joy. At first glance, my poem may appear to be a subversion of the prompt, but that wasn’t my intent.
What if Hades’ waiting room
were a McDonald’s
at 9:30am
on a weekday?
With white collar and working class
having already reported to work,
leaving only retirees
regrouping transients
and the unhurried condemned,
resigned to inevitable fate,
hastened by McGrizzled breakfasts
of dubious origin.
Youthful anachronisms
among innumerable ancient ones
include a young Asian couple
finishing their coffees and mutual flirtations,
as hand in hand, they exit the side-door,
crossing the parking lot towards the river Styx.
An even younger mother
is herding a set of toddler-twins,
awakened earlier than they prefer
as they now crankily demand
identical sausage patties
and cheap toys destined for landfills.
What if life is as
bland and purposeless as the
hashbrown I just ate?
One common element of McHades –
aside from the young lovers – it seems that
none here seems pleased with their present
or eager to embrace their futures;
it is a collective rumination,
a group-think procrastination.
What if none of this matters?
But each of us must face what comes next,
and one by one, we do,
slipping through the side-door,
first the flirting couple,
next the mother of sleepy twins,
with the countless octogenarians
each taking as much time as they wish
in gathering their past achievements
and unspoken unfilled ambitions.
What if it’s all just a game,
and I’ve been chasing the wrong things?
My phone vibrates, warning me
that I must soon return to my role
supporting the white-collar,
working-class worlds.
I finish my Sausage McBluffen with Egg
and exit through the side-door. The river
seems much closer these days, but still
I still have a ways to go.
***
I gotta be honest, though I’m pleased with the outcome, I wasn’t a fan of this prompt. I found it a bit restrictive, like trying to box a kangaroo inside a telephone booth. (If you’re wondering why anyone would ever do that, well that’s kind of my point, isn’t it?)
I know the prompts are obviously optional, but I’m a sequential thinker and not one to bail on an artistic challenge. Well, not today, apparently, as I managed to box all three elements inside this telephone booth.
Showing my work:
“I ain’t much on Casanova” is from Casanova, by Levert.
“I would love you anyway” is from Sweet Thing, by Rufus and Chaka Kahn
Fred wanted to be a New York Yankee
But a greater calling led him to lead
Honor student; voice for impoverished need
A credible threat to bureaucracy
Uniter of races spanning rainbows
He was drugged and slaughtered by his own state
Two rounds to his skull, not the final blows
His work became bloodied, sharing his fate
We wait for justice as brown bodies pile
Tamir Rice, Philando Castile, and more
Respond as technology streams the gore
But know these slayings were here all the while
Slaughter of leaders, of boys, of teachers
In-justice? These are not bugs; they’re features.
***
Shared to NaPoWriMo’s day 4 prompt: write a sad poem that achieves sadness through simplicity.
Also shared to dVerse OLN. Other poets contributed here.
The quote “He’s good and dead now” was allegedly* said by the policeman who administered the two fatal shots to Fred Hampton’s head, execution-style.
I prefer escapism, love, loss, and the human condition over the sad realities of the world we all share, but for some reason I was moved to write about this tragedy… this massacre allegedly* sanctioned and administered by the state in 1969. It was my hope to bring perspective to all the recent alleged* murders of black men and minorities by the state captured on video, and all the hand-wringing and outrage at the judicial system’s collective shrugs.
Everyone who are wondering how we could possibly let this happen in the twenty-first century needs to know that it has always been happening for the past 400-plus years. You only get to witness the massacres second-hand through the miracle of modern technology.
(*I added allegedly for legal reasons… but come on now. Y’all know what’s up.)
Belle was a humbug. No such character
could ever release a loved one from
his promise with a full heart. It is
unrealistic and takes me out of the story.
Or perhaps I should not have revisited
that tale during dreary mid-January,
with all the cheer
left at a New Year’s Eve party,
where we couldn’t be bothered to pretend
to like each other anymore. A trick
time plays on us makes us mistake three weeks
for ages ago,
and a mostly-empty midnight bus ride – heading
towards total emptiness – lurches forward
into a future free of certainty and old routines.
“End of the line, boss,”
the driver reminds me.
“You good, young blood?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” I lie easily
with a smile – cause that’s my thing as
a practiced liar – skipping off
the bus into a freak wind storm.
Yes, I still skip from time to time. What,
you’ve never seen a black man on the
back-end of his twenties skip before?
It happens; get over it.
I soon stopped skipping as I began walking
North with the wind rushing me along
with the rest of the displaced litter,
placing further distance between
where we’d been, and
where ever I was going.
It began to rain that annoying Seattle spittle,
except for the random fistfuls of spite smiting me
in the face as the wind swirled and changed directions
as if it didn’t know what it wanted to be either.
I’m chilled to the bone,
knowing I deserve far worse
than this climate change.
It was only slightly too warm for snow,
but cool enough to keep me moving
through a desolate tree-lined park where
people smarter than I had long abandoned,
and the long, twisted shadows
had longer twisted memories.
“Human garbage,” mocked one of the shadows.
“You wanted her to catch you in the lie,”
sneered another. “You didn’t even have
the guts to end it like a man.”
“Shut up,” I countered. “I tried
to end it. She wouldn’t let me.”
“But now it’s different!” a third shadow joined in.
“She saw your text messages! She knows whereyou’ve been!
Where you’re going! And she still wants you back
like nothing happened! After all you let happen!”
“She knows,” I repeated,
“so we can never go back.
I made my choice.”
The darkness echoes with laughter
as the shadows talk over one another.
“What a safe and terrible answer!”
“You replaced a woman who truly loves you
with an empty vessel! An Idol of newness!”
“You’re not losing a wife;
you’re gaining a side-chick!”
“Side-chick, indeed? Ha!
You mean rebound-chick!”
“I’m sure this side-chick-rebound-upgrade is
going to work out great for you, young man!”
“I hope you are truly happy
with the path you have chosen!”
I cover my ears
and cinch-up my hoodie.
Damn know-it-all shadows.
Leaving the mocking shadows behind, I
arrive at my destination, knocking lightly
on the door, as to not disturb anyone
not expecting me who may be already
asleep. I’m just used to slinking around.
A single light comes on, and soon she
is scrutinizing my soaked face.
“I did it,” I said.
“You did it,” she repeated with a smile.
“To be honest, I didn’t think you had the guts.”
“Yeah,” I said.
She leaned into me, gently kissing my wet lips.
“Things will be different now,” she said.
“Much better than hiding. You’ll see.”
“Yeah, different,” I repeated.
But if there had been no
understanding between us,
would I have sought her out
and tried to win her now?
I knew the answer.
It’s all a big humbug.
***
Written for NaPoWriMo’s day 3 prompt: write a poem that meanders, full of digressions, that takes its time getting wherever it’s going. Since that almost seems exactly what I always do, I really let myself ramble here. Sorry about that. 🙂
Author’s note: It’s only day three and I’m already struggling to stay on the pace! Also, between work, homelife, and writing, I haven’t tended to my reading and comments as well as I should. I’ll try to do better, but thank you all for continuing to drop in on me.
Do you remember me, Eurydice?
We danced the summer in the upside-down
In moon-soaked gardens of Persephone
Below the fruit-bats, we swooped through town
Do you recall the bells we rang;
the song I should not have sang?
Can you trace our song back to me?
Or did you forget the key?
Our harmonious flight
You took wing beside me
Our alighted midnight
When we swelled like the sea
Whether wrong, it felt right
No time for a reprieve
Weather right for delight
Harmony our main key
I could live in your light
Did you want to believe?
Do you remember me, Eurydice?
August nights in electric tide pools
You inhaled habits that felt unhealthy
We exhaled our smoke of fools
Do you recall my answer, miss,
when you asked me for a kiss?
Do you regret the spell?
Cause I don’t kiss and tell
Reminisce on our bliss
Time much shorter than this
Did I comfort you well?
Lost our reprieve from hell
On this I feel remiss
Looking back gives me fits
An improper farewell
Orpheus when you fell
Can we crawl from abyss?
Do you remember our kiss?
***
Written for NaPoWriMo’s day two prompt: write a poem that resists closure by employing many questions and ending with a question. I enjoyed this one and wanted to add to the unsettling vibe by playing with the cadence and changing it up from time to time.
Hephaestus’ Waste & Cosmic Rubble 