Yes, I said poetry. I love poetry. I’m a huge fan of the old school poetry, you know the one that is written by a bunch of dead white guys. I dig the female poets, too, (Wheatley!!!) one hears more about the old canon through school. My fascination with poetry as a thing of beauty probably stems from my darker side. One name: Poe. He is a master – if you like his style. For my creative writing class I had to write two poems. I come nowhere near Poe. I just generally lack that poetic bone. I believe my writing style is strong (even while it needs honing) but being poetic is not a part of that style. I’ve tried just about everything and have come to the conclusion I should just give up. But, as I’ve mentioned, it’s old school. So that means I’m trying to have a set meter, trying to follow a certain rhyming scheme, etc. That is just way too much for my brian to digest. Luckily I can interpret the stuff, or I’d really be up the creek come teaching time. So, yes, I’m going to give to you my pieces. The first two that I’m going to post are what I turned in for the assignment, while the third is what we did in class today for exercise. Who ever reads this, please, please, please (times infinity) offer up some advice. I’m self-deprecating at best when it comes to my poetry so I need all the help I can get.
-A Reflection-
Look at me now, changed through the years.
Look at me with your aged eyes.
Have you yet to see my beauty?
Have you yet to see the perfection that is me?
Observe the light reflected in my eyes.
Observe the smile that brightens the room.
Gaze at the ears you once thought too big.
Gaze at the nose you once thought too narrow.
Does my face pass your inspection?
Does my body pass your inspection?
Peer at my short stature and small frame.
Peer at the one duck foot.
Scrutinize the way the dress falls around the curves of my hips.
Scrutinize the way my shoulders no longer hunch.
Reflect on these things you see before you,
Reflect on you and me and we.
– youmakemehappy
-And you, oh Muse, Guide My Blinking Cursor-
The inkwells have all run dry
The wood and graphite flakes to dust
Memory is filled with electronic imagination
The technique made simpler on fingers, wrist, and elbow,
Except for carpal tunnel syndrome
The fatigue remains the same
The steady pulsing seems to cry, what’s next, what’s next?
The blank page stares back at me through a glare
Silence is replaced by the quite electrical hum
That is only conspicuous at its sudden absence.
The midnight oil burns from the monitor in my lap
While my tongue tied muse waits.
She waits with that damned cursor asking
What’s next, what’s next, what’s next?
-youmakemehappy
-Fixing a Flat-
Tired. Tired of being the tire prop.
Years down the road, maybe this road,
Her tire will be flat, unlearned and, so, unloved,
Hands dirty only from being the tire prop.
Her straight As and straight teeth,
The wrinkle-free, hole-free clothes
The white collered family life
Suburbia, two point five kids
Will leave her with no experience outside the tire prop
That man behind her now grunts off the screw
He tells her wait; no watch, not learn, not do.
In his white work shirt he has the know-how.
He was expected to get dirty.
He was expected to never ask for help.
Years down the road, maybe this road,
She’ll be expected to ask for help.
She wants to be learned and, so, loved,
Not helpless nor hopeless – not needed to be
Nothing more than the tire prop.
-youmakemehappy
Oh and for anyone who follows the comparative work I do with film and lit, I have stuff I’m working on that I will post soon. Angles and Demons (general film, no lit -sorry); Waiting for Godot; and Death of a Salesman will be up shortly. I’m attending a live play tomorrow – Cinderella – and will post something on that as well. I also want to write up a short piece about a novel I’ve just read – Melissa Marr’s Ink Exchange – so for those who might read this for the educational part stay tuned as well. And at a later soon I will be posting a comparative lit piece concerning Thristy by M.T. Anderson with Nightlight a Harvard Lampoon (Twilight parody). Summer is right around the corner – I’ll have plenty of time to work on more then.
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i like fixing a flat particularly.
you would – you’re strange like that! I don’t even know how to change a tire – which might be the real motivation behind that particular poem – although, it was based on a picture of a girl resting her head on a tire, while a male figure is in the background changing the tire. whatever! that exercise was fun b/c the guy that sat next to me wrote about the “dad” feeling inept about changing a tire in front of his daughter.