They need to be distilled perhaps but they are who they are for now.
Thanks for reading if you do; it's always good to be grounded by the sounding board of other's ideas and thoughts!
At That AgeIt’s not teenagers,But the twenty-something’s that should bearthe grimace of society.Teens hunger and thirst, they struggle and bend,Emotive, restless, straining toward.20’s sit smug in pools of stagnant ambition,Mouths open like baby birds for warmth and food and approbationTossing no longer jacks or colored balls but ideas back and forthStretched out on couches like the Enlightenment’s eliteNoshing on lattes and relevant ethicsWhile their parents, with aching smiles, stand beside.Nothing for them but bland replies,Whose backs were bent at 20 forging pathsWith delicate dreamsand pocketed coins to pay the rent.
This is (obviously) about my own introspection and selfish tendencies in my early twenties. And also about what I see around me from time to time.
Night FallingSometimes the moon is just right,Over the houseA crisp crescent the cow jumped overAnd the sounds of the music are just right,Slow, steady, moody and blue
The evening sky pale through dark leaf-laceLuminous, colorless, grey-scudded cloudsAnd the garden lamps glow onThe evening shower that passedMinutes agoLeaving drips on dim flowersMusky in the gathering dusk
And the moon is just right,When you look up,The night’s soft arms are folding‘Round colors of grey and white
It’s a good time to be alone and breatheIn the voluminous air of the night.
This one I wrote quickly on my phone memo-pad one evening after a rain shower as I was walking into the house. The moon was perfect, and the radio still coming from the car speakers fit the mood exactly.
FreeI’ll rent a space, where they race snow machines over high fields, and swings go up and down too high to hear the recess bell.I’ll climb a tree in the dark, where they can’t find me and wouldn’t think to look. Or wander through the pitch black where the noise of an animal, probably wild, doesn’t scare me as much as going back.I’ll take a walk in an odd direction, and in the space between being lost and being gone too long I’ll feel the joy of heedless breezes that come from anywhere.I’ll climb some stairs to a grey haven, an attic room with a rectangle of window and just a bed and a wood floor.I’ll bend to buttercups with my child self, little girl with no care too large to hold out and drop on the world.I’ll pay my rent when it is due. In the space between I’ll hide from you.
This one also dropped out of my head in a hurry. Sometimes I like these better than the ones I tweak and puzzle over for an interminable length of time. The fast free verse stream-of-consciousness poems don't win prizes, though.
Tin taste and lead
Grey stone swallowed
Long white hallways
End in space
Pace the miles
Drift right and left\ backward/ forward
A sneeze dies behind the nose
Burst into laughter once
Glitter in the eyes
A caked-on smile
Burnt smell and dead
Fish in the pan
Not half alive
On the live wire
Push the whole mess off the counter.
Push the whole
Green, purple, and some red. Same as the dead. And guns going off all day in my head.
(Quick! Call a psychiatrist! Ha ha!) This is a strange one but I love the way it pulls the angst out of my soul. I read it now and then for catharsis.
Bye for now!