Okay, so that last entry, kind of a downer, and I want to show a little more flavor than that, so here are a few poems that are a little lighter, but still insightful, and some of them (I think) a little funny.
This first one was written about a conversation I had with a high school crush the summer after our first year away at school. I was over it, except for the fact that I still found him to be just an amazing human being, and he had a girlfriend, but we just had this great walk one night and I have no idea what we talked about, but I had such a good feeling afterward that I felt I had to describe the feeling of having such a great connection with someone. I had a hard time with it, until one day, listening to the new Atmosphere album, I heard this line, "You love the people that love you, you hear the music they move to." It was exactly how I felt.
CONVERSATION
"You love the people that love you.
You hear the music they move to"
-Atmosphere
His words played my bones like a xylophone
Made me hollow like a drum
They bounced around inside
Playing pinball in my lung.
I wanted him to blow music through me and melt my frozen cover
I wanted to be inspired by his inspiration
And be his inspiration that inspired others.
So powerful his words they felt like a dance
And I heard it so clearly it put me in a trance
It strummed my shoelaces and tapped against my chest
It beat inside my head and made me move my best
His mouth forming sounds hummed inside my ears
Vibrated slowly stirring all my inner fears
I was stripped from all protection
Exposed to all the world
Found in perfect confection
Sweet music loving words
Play me like a drum
Warm my ear with a hum
Speak words that knock bones
Hollow note hugging sounds.
No one else could hear it
It was a decibel too high
A language of percussion
Rhythm racing through the night
It had all been dark, the curtains had been closed
And his words lightened the room
Tuned the strings unstrung
Once one being, once alone
Became an orchestra
That played between our bones
No audience there was
And no applause
But his words bounced inside me
And both our eardrums buzzed.
This next one I think is funny, but can be viewed as offensive, so I'm sorry to anyone who is offended, but this is an experience I had and in my mind displays no insult toward anyone's beliefs. I was raised Catholic, and went to Catholic school until high school. I was god fearing as a child, always feeling guilty for the smallest of crimes, something that I have had to learn to shake because feeling guilty can become a habit, even when you haven't done anything wrong, but as I got older, I became disillusioned and the religion became a mindless activity for me as I believed less and less of it. Anyway, this poem came about because I used to have nightmares about the crucifix in the church that I sang in every Sunday and attended with the rest of the school numerous times a month. It is bigger than life size and the most realistic looking statue I have ever seen. The body of Jesus hangs pale and skeletal up on the altar, bleeding out his hands and his chest, and it is enough to scare any child. I use to sit in church and get sick to my stomach and lightheaded from all the incense and would get so woozy that I thought I could actually see him moving up there, and it scared me, a lot. For some reason, I did not feel that if Jesus came back to life in that statue that he would be nice. Later, looking back on it, I see the irony of the whole thing, and this is what came out.
SUNDAY
I wait for that Christ to just fall to the floor
I wait for that life size porcelain emaciated body
To climb off that wooden hanger
Creep up in front of me
And slice me across the face
Ever since I was a kid
I've been waiting for it to happen
It's the incense, the blood red carpet, the low candlelight
It's the banners, the gold
It’s the blood dripping front his wrists
Like a suicidal teenager
It’s the fact that I always get nauseous in his presence
Its scoffing at the fact that he is a god
Its pity for the fact that he must hang naked and ugly,
High on the walls of worshipping centers and arbitrary buildings around the world.
It's terror from this PG-13 scene
That I saw every Sunday
Until I was 12.
Its that I've never bought into this Jesus thing
And I think he might eat me for it
Like all the people that have been eating him.
Okay, here's another thing about me. I like to rant, if you haven't already noticed. Sometimes, I get REALLY angry, because I am VERY opinionated. What happens generally is that I get mad at someone for being ignorant in my mind, or intolerant, or just annoying, and I write it all down. The great thing is that I don't take things too personally, and I don't hate anyone, I kind of turn it into a big joke. So this is one of many ranting poems that I would love to turn into a collection. I call these "Arguments I Should've Had" since that's how it is isn't it? Someone makes you angry, but it isn't until after the fact that you suddenly become inspired with all the clever and witty things you could have said. This poem is directed at an English professor I had. I don't hate him, in fact I would take another class with him, but sometimes the things that came out of his mouth just drove me nuts. He taught Classic Children's Literature and had all these theories about how all those stories are only about sex and corrupt the young, and blah blah blah, and he couldn't look at them objectively. I see the bad in fairy tales, but I also was raised on them, and I don't think I turned out half bad. Yes, many a good woman has been lost to the impossible search for Prince Charming, but I just kept thinking, can't we just stick to the text?
RESPONSE TO A POMPOUS PROFESSOR
O little man
Standing on your podium
Talking about things
You don’t know about
You are destroying my passion
They are stories
Literature
And while by all means
Relevant
And important
Also subject to change and interpretation
And that’s their beauty
That the meaning of those
Intricate words
Is elusive
And fleeting
And though created by man
Once set in paper
Forever immortal
And unbranded by mere mortals
You cannot tell us the way they are
Stop confining the imagination
Of humanity
To one
Interpretation
Of how these words have affected us
Please just stop.
Because how they affect you
And how they affect me
Will be as different as DNA
Why try to chain the meaning
Of words?
It would be like trying to grab a cloud by
The scruff
Why are we not
Exploring the deep crevices
Of complexity
That lie within
The words and lines
Of these classic tales
Why are we not deep in the swamps of symbolism
Why are we not climbing
The climax mountain?
Why are we not tip toeing along
The plot line picking up
Jeweled tone
Flowers
Precious pearls of meaning?
How do you
PROFESSOR
Not see the infinite string of multiple
Meaning
In one tiny precious pearl?
How do you not see
The paralleled existence of our many different lives?
Why are we not traveling
Amidst those beautiful words?
Why are we instead turning them
Into stone?
What a game to play
To begin a search that has no end
To wander through the weeds of substance
To determined how these markings
On paper
Relate to me.
We should push on as brave
Explorers
Instead of settling for one speculative
Meaning.
O you
PROFESSOR
Stop pretending that in order for us to respect you
You must have answers for us.
We should make love to these tales
Embark on a journey of
Discoverance
And not with the purpose of
Uncovering answers
But with the purpose
Of experiencing life.
