Monday, April 10, 2017

I'm Not a Poet

I'm not a poet. I prefer to write long books about dragons and princes and pirates. I like fantasy, though I have written one contemporary novel. But I am not a poet.

However, I have written poems before for several college courses, and while I don't consider myself a poet, some of those poems did come out okay in my opinion. Sometimes I still write poetry--usually prose poetry--from time to time, though. It's a weird thing, to be a writer. Since April is National Poetry Month, I thought I would post a few poems here and there.

This list of short poems were created as a response piece to a book of poetry I read in my poetry course. The book was Stay, Illusion by Lucie Brock-Broido. I don't remember much about the poems themselves, but I do remember enjoying this book of poetry more than the others I read that semester. Here's what I wrote in response to her poems.

There is a meadow
with sunlight and warm grass
with frolicking deer and flowers abloom
and a sweet voice singing songs without doom.

There is a meadow
where hunger does not thrive
where art can be experienced beyond the decay of earth
where the ghosts of the past can no longer haunt us
and the weight of death is no more than air.

There is a meadow

I want very much to meet you.
To know your life and thoughts
to see you learn to ride a bike
and experience snow for the first time.
I want very much to be present
at every life changing event
to see you smile, cry, and scream
to feel your warm breath on my cheek.
But some days have passed.
Some days are gone.
And I can only know your present.

The smudge of moon
splayed by silver implements
peeks beneath the clouds
of a darkened sky
trying to see beyond
the elements of the stratosphere
into the hearts of those
who live below on earth
walking on two legs
with hearts pumping blood.

There is no getting around the gun
in your mouth but I still ask
why did you pull the trigger
and leave me with the broken
pieces of memories?

All dressed up like scarecrows
but you aren’t very scary
trying to disguise yourself
so you can protect another from
the dark feathers that haunt
the empty fields of your heart.
Please take off the hat and
rid yourself of the scattered straw,
so you can find your heart again.

Crocodile pocketbook, crocodile purse
Why did Miss Susie first call the nurse?
Poor Tim was just hungry; he had nothing to eat.
The doctor diagnosed a whole lot of meat.
But the lady with the alligator purse
did call out the wrong of the doctor and the nurse.
And poor Tim finally had his fill
instead of prescriptions of pill after pill.

Whortleberry, bilberry, huckleberry
I don’t really like dark colored berries.
Blackberry, blueberry, thimbleberry
I really just want some strawberries.

The earth loved us as little, I remember.
During the days that turned into years.
When flowers bloomed and the sun sang warmth
when animals came out from playing hide n seek
and the bugs swarmed for council meetings.
The earth sang ballads through whispers
in the sprouting green tree leaves
and the world was calm without
storm, fire, and eruption.
The earth loved us a little, I remember
To give us pleasant days of peace.

In flight to fly
still able to fly
both arms outstretched.

Lie here with me in snow
and we can stare up at the blue-gray sky
and dream of the stars beyond the clouds.
Lie here with me in snow
and we can flap our arms up and down
to create angels—celestial beings to protect us.
Lie here with me in snow
and turn your head so I can stare into your dark eyes.
and think of all the hopes you have.
Lie here with me in snow
and maybe you can roll a little closer
and kiss my forehead where my hat has started
to come off.

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