Category: Poetry


Haiku

windswept, dirty hair
a gaggle of kids in tow
weary and threadbare

fluorescent lights shine
bringing everlasting day
fake sun, false light, lies.

a young smiling face
souring at the leaving
no toy horse today.

bells jingle nonstop
asking for any spare change
sir, donation please?

NaBloPoMo Day 18: Who Lives in Your Head Part 2

Yesterday I posted six photographs of the people in my head. Today, I’ll explain them, and give a little context.

1. Bob Dylan

Way back when I was but a budding teenager, my youth pastor at the time introduced me to the music of Bob Dylan. It was whiny and nasally and weird and I hated it. But he kept playing it, much to our chagrin. In particular, he kept playing “Highway 61 Revisited.” The lyrics were bizarre, but after listening to the song 15 times in a row, it began to grow on me. I had to have more! So I started listening, and as I grew older, the songs became that much more amazing. The lyricism of Dylan is just incredible. And when you think about how much he wrote, the mind just boggles.

2. The Green Lantern

It’s no secret that I’m a fan of the Green Lantern. A superhero limited only by willpower and imagination? That’s amazing. It’s who I want to be. And while it’s a bit melodramatic, his mantra inspires me every time I see it.

“In brightest day, in blackest night, No evil shall escape my sight. Let those who worship evil’s might, Beware my power… Green Lantern’s light!”

3. Jon Stewart

This one is probably the greatest outlier in the series. I really like Jon Stewart, and I think he has a more grounded view of our country and politics than most of the pundits on TV. I would like to think that he gives ideas and issues a fair cop, but I also understand that he has a television show to run. But, all the same, I would rather listen to his views.

4. Peter Griffin

Don’t judge me. You know you have an idiot manchild hiding somewhere in your brain, too. He’s inappropriate, self-centered, and idiotic. But he’s a lot of fun to watch. He’s the monologue that lets you laugh at the world, because if you can’t laugh, then it all gets overbearing.

5. Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman wrote a lot of poetry. Most of it not any good (in my estimation). He also was a man of great self-conviction. He was strong, proud. He knew who he was, and he wasn’t afraid of anyone telling him otherwise. One of my favorite quotes comes from his “Song of Myself.”

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

6. Alton Brown

This man is like some sort of crazy food wizard. He knows all kinds of crazy food lore. He seems to know what every ingredient is, and how those ingredients can go together, no matter what culture the food is coming from. What’s more, he explains all that vast knowledge to the laity like us, and he does so while making it fun and interesting. He’s goofy and that’s just fine, because in the end, he gets results. Forget the Iron Chefs. I want to be a chef like him some day.

Grey

A new poem for you all. I hope you like it.

Grey

Monochromatic amidst the chiaroscuro haze of time
Memories lost, found, forgotten, repressed, fade into
The background—grey.

Standing wondering staring into nothing,
Stumbling on memories, looking from afar;
The colors faded—grey.

A lifetime of struggle and heartache she’s faced—
Disappointment, pain, sadness, fear—
But none of it mattering now—grey.

Emptiness and loneliness leaving her feeling
Small, helpless, forgotten.
Wanting to fill the void—grey.

Slashing violently through the grey,
Glowing green and growing,
A swathe of color begins to shine

The heartache of the past further obscured,
Further separated, further healed.
Light breaks, contrasts sharpen

She sees herself mirrored,
Magnified, reflected back. All the memories,
All the history, all the haziness of time torn away

The void takes shape; the shape begins to fill,
As her heart is mended, slowly, and as the scabs
Fall away, she looks again—grey.

Grey changing, bubbling, mottled now with
Points of light, bright and clear
Her background begins to disentwine,

And the colors become clear,
Darks and lights, neons and mutes,
What’s clear is it’s no longer—grey.

She is who she is, her past
The palate from which her canvas
Is carefully colored

The streak of green keeps growing,
Glowing verdant against the colors
eschewing from the grey beyond.

Her heart thaws, warms, beats,
A fire, viridescent flame, emerald passion
Envelops her, born for the growing green form

Her prayers answered, no longer alone,
She begins to take heart, she embraces
The virid figure taking shape,

Turning the girl from grey to white—
All color encompassing, infinite possibility—
And the void is filled,

The background vivid and colorful,
Imprinting their hues on the girl,
But she’s encompassed them all,

Not despairing, but sublimating,
Taking advantage of the lessons learned
Looking forward, entwining fingers

With her emerald companion,
The world takes form and color,
And washed away is the—grey.

Cocoon

Inching forward, miserable worm:
         Incapable
                   Insipid
                             Irrelevant.
Wishing for warm cocoon’d escape
         Inch.
                   Inch.
                           Inch.
                                    Inch.
Nibbling leaves, barely surviving
A worm’s life—
life: does a worm deserve such lofty appellations—
         Inch.
                  Inch.
                           Inch.
                                    Inch.
Finding space, cocoon spun,
         Safe!
                  Warm!
                           Metamorphing!
Time has wrought a marvelous change
From worm to beautiful butter—
         Fall.
                  Deranged.
                           Mutant.
Something’s gone wrong.

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