Showing posts with label poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poems. Show all posts

October 28, 2020

Poem: How I Saw What the Gentleman Saw

photo illustration by S. King


Light reflecting off the yellow walls of the hospital room

Gives the scene a warm, nostalgic air it doesn't deserve.

On the bed, a boy cries and screams.

His limbs are spindly, his skin pale, his head overlarge,

Like a six-year-old foetus.

A white-capped nurse holds him down as he flails.

Doctors in white coats wait in the background,

Prepared to fix what's broken.

The boy's mother stands in the doorway

In a blue gingham housedress and brown cardigan.

Her hair is set in curls,

Her face in lines of perpetual worry.

She speaks to the gentleman in the hall,

A friend who has stopped by because.

"It happened again," she says

With perfunctory weariness.

The boy wails, the nurse shushes, the mother shrugs.

"But don't worry about us.

"We'll be all right."

March 30, 2018

Poem: Honey

photo illustration by S. King, 
original photo by Stew & Vee Carrington

The honey inside of me
Is so old,
It has hardened
And crystallized.
Heat me with
Your fire,
So I might melt
A little.
Soften what
Is hard in me
And I will share
Some sweetness
With those nearby –
The sour,
The bitter,
And the salty ones.



December 7, 2017

Poem: Protest

digital collage by S. King, using a photo
by Brad Spiess
The rock is in my way;
I have to move it.
But,
When I push against
This obstacle,
I uncover all
The nasty things
Living beneath.
"Why did you move that rock?"
People ask me.
They blame me for
Exposing
The hidden creatures
Lurking below it.
They tell me,
"Stop!"
As if it's
My fault they see
Something ugly
Crawling out from
Underneath that rock.
The rock is in my way,
And I will move it.


May 24, 2017

Poem: I Was a Teenage Moth

Me on the last day of 8th grade

I covered myself with plastic chains,
Rocks and beads, embroidery thread,
Glitter paint, and soda can tabs.
I wrapped my body in ripped jeans
And t-shirts stamped
With symbols of my tribe.
So cocooned, I pupated,
Relying on my outer shell
To tell the world
Exactly who I was,
Who I wanted to be.
Inside, I gradually developed
A heart, a spine, a prefrontal cortex:
Each new organ dearly bought
And painfully grown.
At last, I realized I had emerged
The day I found
Pieces of my cocoon
Neatly boxed up and put away
As mementos from a time
When I wore my inner self
On the outside.

May 13, 2017

Poem: Sine Wave

illustration by S. King

Life happens on a sine wave.
Troughs and peaks, crests and valleys
Are part of every day,
Every week,
every year.
I can't determine
The period of this waveform
From my mortal perspective
On my little life raft
Riding each wave as it comes.
All I know is
The motion is continuous
Through life's ups and downs.
It doesn't matter
Which part of the wave
I'm surfing today -
Rise or fall,
Tomorrow will be different.

April 14, 2017

Poem: Unimproved Lot


Find beauty in a dead oak tree
Drowning in kudzu.
Find beauty in a lopsided longleaf pine
And the squirrel nest in its broken branches.
Find beauty in dusty red dirt
Scattered with pine cones.
Find beauty in blackbirds' overlapping cries
And cicadas' grinding whirrs.
Find beauty in shimmering, humid heat
On a cloudless summer afternoon.
Find beauty in places called empty,
Abandoned, ignored, unimproved.

November 28, 2016

Poem: Respite

We drink wine and whiskey
While the world falls apart.
Despair is parked outside;
Anger left by the door
Like a wet umbrella.
Here in the Kingdom of Cheddar and Brie
Contentment reigns -
Nine o'clock and all's well.
We tell old stories,
Sing old songs,
Drink old scotch,
And share memories,
And memories of memories.
Tomorrow's news
Will put new wrinkles on my face.
But tonight,
I drive home in silence -
Cheese in my stomach,
Music in my head -
And sleep in quiet peace.

September 14, 2016

Poem: Midlands September

Photo illustration by S. King. Mosquito image credits.
Some day soon
Mosquitoes will lie dormant
And the water in the air
Will retreat
To clouds, lakes, and rivers.

Some day soon
I will walk outside
Briskly
And my shirt will not
Stick to my back and chest.

Some day soon
A breeze will make me shiver
And I will open
Every window in my house
To let it in.

Some day soon
Summer's tyranny will end
And we will dance in the streets,
Wearing jeans,
Rejoicing in the victory of Fall.

February 19, 2016

Poem: These Clothes Do Not Fit

illustration by S. King
This suit of clothes which
You have given me
Looks finely made, but
I have to tell you,
I am afraid that
It does not fit me.
The sleeves are set so
My arms can't reach them.
The legs are too short,
The collar too tight,
The waist much too loose;
I cannot wear it.
Now, I suppose that
I could change my shape.
Given enough time,
Patience, strength of will,
I could make myself
Fit into these clothes,
But I hesitate,
Asking, is it wise
To change who I am
In order to fit
This suit of clothes which
You have given me?

November 30, 2015

Poem: Boat

photo illustration by S. King

i would be your boat
gladly
carry you
over deep chasms dark
and cold
protect you
from things that prey
and sting and
injure
keep you
firmly secure 
above
in the air and light
if i could
if only i could float
above it all
i would be your boat

September 24, 2015

Poem: Interrupted


Interrupted by
phone calls
Interrupted by
text messages
Interrupted by
instant message
washing machine chime
calendar reminder
"Are you sure you want to delete this?"
dog barking
doorbell
oven timer
crashing breaking noise
"Mommy!"
Now, what was I doing again?

May 26, 2015

Poem: The Spider

I found this poem while looking through some archived files from my old old computer. I wrote it back when I was in college at Sewanee.

photo illustration by S. King


The Spider

The other day I paused as I was walking down the hall;
I spied a tiny spider that was hanging from the wall.
Its silken thread shone slightly, its translucent body pale,
And it swung a little in the breeze I made when I exhaled.
I held my fingers out so that the spider hovered near.
It acquiesced to climb upon them without any fear.
From fingertip to fingertip, to knuckle, thumb, and nail
The spider spun its little web, and made my hand a veil.
I stood transfixed as I admired this fragile work of art,
This tapestry of gossamer of which I was a part,
When suddenly I felt the sting of brazen insect teeth;
I smashed my hand against the wall, the spider underneath.
It was a pity, but I feel no taint upon my virtue
For a thing of beauty is a joy until it tries to hurt you.

March 24, 2015

Poem: Acorns

photo by womanimal
Be careful when you walk this path.
Your huge, galumphing feet cannot feel
The many tiny things they trample.
An acorn is just a seed,
A small nut, 
Until it's broken.
Stomp on that acorn, crack it,
And it will grow
Tenacious tendrils into the soil.
Sufficient broken acorns 
Convert a clear path
Into an unyielding thicket of scrub oak.
Acorns cannot choose where they land,
How or when they fall
From the mother oak.
They did not willfully place themselves
Along your path.
So, please, tread carefully.
Mind how you step
On the little nuts in your midst.

February 15, 2015

Poem: Forgotten

My socks are cotton,
Not silk;
White,
Not black or argyle or paisley.
When I sit with legs crossed
My ankle is exposed.
It's obvious I don't belong
Here among stone columns
And gilt ceilings
And echoing marble floors.
In theory, I own this building.
In practice, it belongs
To the silk-sock comped-lunch hunt club crowd,
Those men who know and recognize
Others of their kind.
Me, they can safely ignore,
Sitting and waiting
In this elegant hallway:
A forgotten stranger
With white cotton socks.

December 4, 2014

Poem: Fallen Star

created from photos by Andrew J. Cosgriff, David DeHetre, and ewkste 


She is a fallen star,
Cruelly
Forced from the heavens,
The only home
She'd ever known.
I did not see where she fell.

I have searched
Cold, green mountain hollows
And bleak fields of asphalt.
I've inquired
At fortresses of marble,
Concrete, and paper.
No one, not one, has seen
My bright little star.

I will keep searching.
I cannot give up;
Hope burns
Like a star in my chest.
Someday I will find her.
No star can fall
Without a trace,
A sign,
A trail
Of its passing.
Wherever it lands,
A fallen star must shine:
Radiant,
And undeniable.

October 15, 2014

Poem: The Path

Have you ever had one of those times in your life where you can sense that everything around you is changing? Your best friend moves away or your business downsizes or someone close to you dies. The changes snowball as your group of friends stops meeting up, coworkers leave for other jobs, or family traditions end.

How do you find that happy place again? Do you try and restore what's been broken or leave in search of new friends, new work, new traditions? The answer is different in each situation. When I see the changes coming, though, my instinct is usually to hold on to what used to be good, and try to make it into something good again.


Adapted from a photo by Houston Marsh

I have come up
From the green and fertile valley.
Ahead of me I see
A desert wasteland,
Barren
But for the path I walk,
Desolately winding
Through gray rock and dust.
If I stay upon this path
I'll walk a harder road; harder, yes,
Than any I have known before.
It's tempting - I'm tempted
To abandon this journey
Here and now:
Abdicate,
Begin anew somewhere else,
Someplace green and welcoming.
I see the faded footprints
Of those who came before me
And turned aside.
I understand.
But if I do, if I do not
Traverse this desert,
I will forever wonder
Where this path I've chosen might have led.
What miracles may lie
Beyond this dreary road?
I have to know.
I will know.
I take a single step
Forward.

September 25, 2014

Poem: Saw Her in Line at the Coffee Shop


Red, red, red
Lips like a stoplight
Pulled my eyes
To her dark eyes blackened darker
Than her inky hair.
She glowed like a neon light,
Filled that corner of the coffee shop
With luminous beauty.
And yet.
The look on her face,
The posture of her
Exquisitely dressed body,
Said, "Ignore me.
"Pretend I'm not here."
She shrunk inside herself,
Hiding from those barefaced girls
Sipping lattes in sneakers and sweats:
A wilting hothouse rose among the daisies.
Her aura whispered,
"DontlookatmeIwontlookatyouifyoudontlookatme."
But she glowed - 
Impossible not to look.
I saw them look,
And judge.

September 18, 2014

TBT: Odes to the Dallas Airport

Created from a photo by Grant Wickes

Flipping through an old notebook to find some songs I wrote long ago, I came across a page of doggerel titled "Odes to the Dallas Airport (or should I say 'odors'?)". These would have been written some time in 1991, probably during my first trip to Sewanee as a prospective student.

Thankfully, DFW has improved a lot since then. But the memory of what it once was has been immortalized in verse.

I Will Wait

To the tune of "Let It Snow"
Oh, the bathrooms are quite disgusting
And the toilet seats are rusting
But since I've heard my plane is late
I will wait, I will wait, I will wait
The women are all smokin' ciggies
And have hairdos like Miss Piggy
They just changed my departure gate
I will wait, I will wait, I will wait

To Fly or Not to Fly

To fly or not to fly?
That is the question,
Whether 'tis nobler to stay in my seat,
Or to take precautions against the ladies' restroom,
And by holding my breath not smell anything;
To sit in a smoke-filled stall,
To pee,
To pee perchance to actually have to touch the toilet seat.
Ay, there's the rub.

Limericks

From gate 20A I'll depart
This gate's not for the faint at heart
The one place left to sit
Is covered with spit
And contains a malodorous fart

Flying is just as much fun
As being shot with a large gun
The seats are so tiny
They don't fit my hiney
I have to sit on just one bun


August 11, 2014

Poem: Ron Clayfoot

Graphic by S. King, photo by Evo Flash
I knew your god
Before his ascendence.
He once ruled
The golden kingdom of my childhood
And was not beloved.
I watched schools crumble in his wake.
I saw brows furrow at his guile.
He was not beloved.

When I first learned
How he was worshiped,
Adored, idolized, revered,
In lands beyond
My childhood home;
The world turned sideways.
I wondered what
These people saw
That made them raise a god
From an imperfect man:
A statue of fool's gold
With feet of clay.

July 31, 2014

Poem: The End of the Day


By the end of the day,
My eyes are smeary,
Slatternly,
Sloughing off
Their layer of pretense.
Too tired to maintain
The mask of wakeful youth,
I let it fall and crumble.
I wash my face,
Anoint my eyes my cheeks my brow
With Oil of Optimism.
Perhaps in the morning
Things will look better.