GI100 Book #2...random attempts at poetry. |
|
A second attempt at "Give It 100!" ![]() These are just rough sketches and ideas that are barely a little more rounded-out...they're not perfect but they're gonna be good enough to share here at least. Your comments, support, and words of encouragement will be greatly appreciated! |
7-2-17 important people doing important things God's America... I was sitting by the fountain in the park, reading on a typically glorious summer afternoon when I became startled by the ringing of church bells from the neighboring property. They sang annoyance to the tune of "Yankee Doodle Dandy", as if my day- no, my life- would be incomplete without it. I offer no allegiance to either, and only to the moment, barely, but mostly to myself and the time I was losing in the interruption. If I'm not fit for independence, then who am I? unimportant people doing unimportant things |
7-3-17 too many people too many people hiding in plain sight hiding in plain fright unaware what's happening surroundings surrounders radar under radar the inmate and the guard i am throwing bilateral darts too many people too many people under siege out of control in demand of control hand to hand to hand combat at war i am watching faithlessly fake news plainspoken lie = truth time demands time unreciprocated too many people too many people here |
7-4-17 When catastrophe explodes into something so meaningless that you'd rather give up than explain, laugh. Maybe I will feel your pain. Even when you're lost, you're still somewhere. I... I swear I've seen this before. All you wanted was the golden sun, but by the time you made it ashore you were all hands and no arms... a burning mess of liquid smoke. You couldn't swim so you thought it'd be safer to float. Like a cannonball parallel you became collateral, and I... I swear I've seen this before. I was the carnival above the norm; the calm to your overboard. The burning ship in your brainstorm. Maybe it's better to laugh than explain. Maybe then I'll feel your pain. |
7-4-17 Is your map fluent in the psychology of local weather? I can translate clouds and tear apart monuments but do you read as much as you pollute? On the pitied day the world colludes to drain your sea, what used plastics will clog the light? Can the water wind its words down and ess-curving to a useful evaporation? I've come with a rake for the cleanup; I may have gotten ahead of myself, or perhaps I didn't overthink enough. |
7-4-17 What's the fascination with used collections for? Who, and I don't know where to begin, except you. The missing word in an overutilized and underlooked art of some everythings. |
7-5-17 You're a cagey darkness, stashed away always in the places I least think to look. And it doesn't mean you're gone. You can hide but you won't run. Why do you settle in the unseen? What's that mean? When you start from far and away to narrate my dreams, you turn into something bigger than me. I need you, but I need you to not be overwhelmingly the opposite of pristine. If sadness is cancer you should be the IV and not the gauze; the pillow and not the cough. Sheens over shadows for the least likeliest win. A break. A breather. A sigh. A handy alibi. Just for a day, even, I need you on my side. |
7-5-17 It tastes like anxiety that washes over like lava. I'm hot. Not like temperature or anger or society's definition of primal attractiveness shined up and packaged for a personal consumption. Maybe it's tendency... a yield sign overlaying the cracked Do Not Enter kiss. Combustion is the holy climax after a series of events and I'm not any closer to the start than the finish. The drip that hasn't dropped. Won't ignite, won't go, won't stop. Skipped A and B and went to C looking like XYZ, and still feeling like A. I'm hot. Long on wondering and losing comprehension yet capacity has never been greater. I don't get it, going maybe nowhere for a change of scenery in a volcanic vacuum, but not for lack of entrapment. Am I a danger, stranger? Things have happened. |
7-6-17 You said I have a good memory and I retaliated with "Remember when I could remember things?" I swear you had to have thought that before, but I'm not sure. There's nothin' more to see around here says the guy who's seen it all and you and I both know he's wrong but who am I to ruin his fun or our secret surprises? You said I couldn't go on like this so I went another way. I know you're hiding something from me but it isn't satisfaction. The locals know all the routines, both theirs and ours. The least they could do for us would be to say so quietly but their thoughts are on their faces and maybe it's time to move or at least hide the kids. I'm worried we might be one of them. |
7-7-17 In perplexity, we make lists in order to not admit to ourselves that we're slaves to our failing memories, wishing to not escape convenience. And forgetting the list illustrates the primary principle: we can't be what we can't conceive, and it mustn't have been important if we didn't bother writing it down. Essentially, passing the blame on to something profoundly and confoundingly pointedly pointless. |
7-7-17 The hipsters gathered around the artisanal cell phone kiosk, arguing about and trying to debunk the myths concerning the search for God's new soul. This would prove to be the final divisive discussion ending with "I think we all can agree to disagree" before the realization that the 21st century rendered nails obsolete struck them, and faith returned to its "Sundays Only" designation. |