Silent
I know I cannot write about Gay Marriage
My religious views condemn me doing so
For it's taboo to feel the way I do now
So I'll just shut my mouth about the vote
Everyone's behind the proposition
Everyone it seems except for me
They say that being gay is plain immoral
But I believe it happens naturally
For why would someone choose to be an outcast?
disowned, reviled, by family, kin and friends?
And if they didn't choose this different lifestyle
Then how can we in "rightness" condemn them?
I was taught to help and love my brother
But now you say that this exceptions fine
I'm so confused in everything I stand for
the contradictions cutting through my mind
My mother said the Devil is within me
that he's persuading me to feel this way
I hid my tears and fled the room she stood in
and cried beneath my bed for half a day
I still believe that families are forever
And that everyone can gain eternity
But if families are so central to this purpose
Then why would God confuse sexuality?
It seems unfair to tell these "lost" church fellows
That because of their "confused" identity
They'll be denied what I as someone "normal"
Can have and gain in all morality
I thought by staying quiet I'd avoid this
the pressure to conform with all my peers
In picketing on California corners
with Yellow signs that promote honks and cheers
And as my friends all gather at this crossroads
to band together, fight this moral war
I resign an outside apathetic nature
while secretly desiring to do more
Cause, in a world so thickly lined with malice
How could any love be bad at all?
There's a fine line between whats right and moral
And it is not our right to make the call
Ode: The Rain
I know I cannot write about Gay Marriage
My religious views condemn me doing so
For it's taboo to feel the way I do now
So I'll just shut my mouth about the vote
Everyone's behind the proposition
Everyone it seems except for me
They say that being gay is plain immoral
But I believe it happens naturally
For why would someone choose to be an outcast?
disowned, reviled, by family, kin and friends?
And if they didn't choose this different lifestyle
Then how can we in "rightness" condemn them?
I was taught to help and love my brother
But now you say that this exceptions fine
I'm so confused in everything I stand for
the contradictions cutting through my mind
My mother said the Devil is within me
that he's persuading me to feel this way
I hid my tears and fled the room she stood in
and cried beneath my bed for half a day
I still believe that families are forever
And that everyone can gain eternity
But if families are so central to this purpose
Then why would God confuse sexuality?
It seems unfair to tell these "lost" church fellows
That because of their "confused" identity
They'll be denied what I as someone "normal"
Can have and gain in all morality
I thought by staying quiet I'd avoid this
the pressure to conform with all my peers
In picketing on California corners
with Yellow signs that promote honks and cheers
And as my friends all gather at this crossroads
to band together, fight this moral war
I resign an outside apathetic nature
while secretly desiring to do more
Cause, in a world so thickly lined with malice
How could any love be bad at all?
There's a fine line between whats right and moral
And it is not our right to make the call
Ode: The Rain
Nothing can quite reflect so accurately
my secret emotions like the rain.
The clouds bottle up their insides
and only release when the weight is too much to contain
The clouds bottle up their insides
and only release when the weight is too much to contain
they have to burst. Down the wet beads
purse against my window, leaving iridescent trails
that intertwine and combine and finally dissolve-
until tiny, minute streaks stain the once spotless pane.
I stare at the descending dew drops,
the steam as it rises from the stony ground,
and the clouds, as they gather together
for their marshmallic convention
My weatherman and my 'til death do I part' lied to me
forecasting spotless sensual skies ahead for
season after season. He smiled at me
stroking my sun streaked hair, and I knew he'd
be gone by morning
I prayed for the precipitation today
for this kindred spirit of vertical condensation
and as the tears pour down my crab apple cheeks
I am comforted by the empathetic weather
I reach for the fluffy white tissues
sitting in their too perky for today yellow box
while salty tears burn crimson trails,
Leaving an emotional war zone on my face
Mascara smudges splattered around my eyes
Resembling a terribly depressing Polluck painting
And snotty residue dries on my upper lip
As I grab the brass door knob and step outside
until tiny, minute streaks stain the once spotless pane.
I stare at the descending dew drops,
the steam as it rises from the stony ground,
and the clouds, as they gather together
for their marshmallic convention
My weatherman and my 'til death do I part' lied to me
forecasting spotless sensual skies ahead for
season after season. He smiled at me
stroking my sun streaked hair, and I knew he'd
be gone by morning
I prayed for the precipitation today
for this kindred spirit of vertical condensation
and as the tears pour down my crab apple cheeks
I am comforted by the empathetic weather
I reach for the fluffy white tissues
sitting in their too perky for today yellow box
while salty tears burn crimson trails,
Leaving an emotional war zone on my face
Mascara smudges splattered around my eyes
Resembling a terribly depressing Polluck painting
And snotty residue dries on my upper lip
As I grab the brass door knob and step outside
Irony of Optimistic Satire
My Dearest Mandy,
Last night, during our weekly bubble bath ritual
We sat tightly together
Clad in summer swimming suits
While we vented and ranted, spit and spat
About the current crap consuming our lives.
We concluded, that this semester could only get better.
What could top demanding professors,
Tedious jobs, 16 hour work days, supernatural weight gain,
monstrous moms, drug-using brothers, clueless co-workers who
use and abuse our skills and greedily keep over
95% of the nights tips because they are servers
and you my dear are a mere busser,
Vegas editing system, 3 a.m. lab nights,
Losing friends, over accentuated self revelations and regrets,
flaky boyfriends who conveniently covet other chicas,
claustraphobia inducing wanna-be-boyfriends,
The obnoxious and oblivious male race, budget cuts,
Slashed mashed and dashed dreams, and not
Getting asked to country dance when we spend five hours
Six minutes and twenty seven seconds primping
And scrimping and proving that we are hot sexy
Mamas?
What maniacal, awful, sadistic cosmic force
Decided that we sucked so much that we needed
To have our eyes, thighs, elbows, ear lobes, pelvis, and ankles,
Thrown into the swirling vortex
Of fire and brimstone-
Like pseudo gladiators, fed to the lions piece by piece
As the crowd cheers on, begging for the monotonous torture to continue.
Yes, last night we decided that there was no way,
No PB and J chance that our lives
Could possibly get any worse.
12 hours later you had to go and get hit by a bus.
Hit by a bus, that is the type of excuse you use
When you want to get out of a date
With the guy who lives next door-
You know the one- nose-picking, loafer wearing
Theodore with the bad breath and nasal spasms?
HIT BY A BUS- it sounds ridiculous
I laugh just thinking about it, my best friend nearly killed
By the bahemouth of vehicular transportation.
You walk across the street, ten feet from your house
(You know they do say most accidents happen
Within one mile of your home)
And you get smacked by the shuttle
The stupid campus loop
Turning left, and you fly 10 feet.
Abrasions, contusions, vicadin
All the new words I learned today
All because we had to insist that
There was no possible way
This semester could get any shittier.
With all the love I can muster,
Lindsay
P.S. I am glad that you are O.K.
Last night, during our weekly bubble bath ritual
We sat tightly together
Clad in summer swimming suits
While we vented and ranted, spit and spat
About the current crap consuming our lives.
We concluded, that this semester could only get better.
What could top demanding professors,
Tedious jobs, 16 hour work days, supernatural weight gain,
monstrous moms, drug-using brothers, clueless co-workers who
use and abuse our skills and greedily keep over
95% of the nights tips because they are servers
and you my dear are a mere busser,
Vegas editing system, 3 a.m. lab nights,
Losing friends, over accentuated self revelations and regrets,
flaky boyfriends who conveniently covet other chicas,
claustraphobia inducing wanna-be-boyfriends,
The obnoxious and oblivious male race, budget cuts,
Slashed mashed and dashed dreams, and not
Getting asked to country dance when we spend five hours
Six minutes and twenty seven seconds primping
And scrimping and proving that we are hot sexy
Mamas?
What maniacal, awful, sadistic cosmic force
Decided that we sucked so much that we needed
To have our eyes, thighs, elbows, ear lobes, pelvis, and ankles,
Thrown into the swirling vortex
Of fire and brimstone-
Like pseudo gladiators, fed to the lions piece by piece
As the crowd cheers on, begging for the monotonous torture to continue.
Yes, last night we decided that there was no way,
No PB and J chance that our lives
Could possibly get any worse.
12 hours later you had to go and get hit by a bus.
Hit by a bus, that is the type of excuse you use
When you want to get out of a date
With the guy who lives next door-
You know the one- nose-picking, loafer wearing
Theodore with the bad breath and nasal spasms?
HIT BY A BUS- it sounds ridiculous
I laugh just thinking about it, my best friend nearly killed
By the bahemouth of vehicular transportation.
You walk across the street, ten feet from your house
(You know they do say most accidents happen
Within one mile of your home)
And you get smacked by the shuttle
The stupid campus loop
Turning left, and you fly 10 feet.
Abrasions, contusions, vicadin
All the new words I learned today
All because we had to insist that
There was no possible way
This semester could get any shittier.
With all the love I can muster,
Lindsay
P.S. I am glad that you are O.K.
A Strangers Apathy
(An Elegy Poem)
-
The water's been running for hours.
Steam engulfs the hollow room
And a deep fog settles in
Penetrating all sight.
I blindly grope for the nearest wall
Tripping over a hairbrush.
Reaching the counter instead
I grasp the welcoming edges
of the cool ivory,
fighting to maintain consciousness.
This vicious virus of violent thought
has slowly eaten away at me,
spreading maliciously from stem to bow
like mold on the banana sandwiches of
yesterday.
My last ounce of will evaporates,
And I succumb to the pain-
To the horror of the last year-
from losing my family for loving him
to losing him to mother earth.
I embrace the metamorphosis –
the "It" I have become.
I do not wish to fade away,
But I cannot weep any longer.
I take one last look in the mirror,
realize the reflection is unrecognizable,
and resign, waving the white flag,
signaling defeat.
My shoulders collapse.
Losing identity I shudder.
Silently, the glue dissolves, I shatter.
The ground welcomes
the stranger -
the “It" I have become.
Reaching the waters edge,
“It” slips into a decrepit insanity.
Decaying, “It” lets the water consume my body whole.
Opposing Seasons
I wear my Gauntlet, as Webster puts it
"a dress glove extending above the wrist"
(An Elegy Poem)
-
The water's been running for hours.
Steam engulfs the hollow room
And a deep fog settles in
Penetrating all sight.
I blindly grope for the nearest wall
Tripping over a hairbrush.
Reaching the counter instead
I grasp the welcoming edges
of the cool ivory,
fighting to maintain consciousness.
This vicious virus of violent thought
has slowly eaten away at me,
spreading maliciously from stem to bow
like mold on the banana sandwiches of
yesterday.
My last ounce of will evaporates,
And I succumb to the pain-
To the horror of the last year-
from losing my family for loving him
to losing him to mother earth.
I embrace the metamorphosis –
the "It" I have become.
I do not wish to fade away,
But I cannot weep any longer.
I take one last look in the mirror,
realize the reflection is unrecognizable,
and resign, waving the white flag,
signaling defeat.
My shoulders collapse.
Losing identity I shudder.
Silently, the glue dissolves, I shatter.
The ground welcomes
the stranger -
the “It" I have become.
Reaching the waters edge,
“It” slips into a decrepit insanity.
Decaying, “It” lets the water consume my body whole.
Opposing Seasons
I wear my Gauntlet, as Webster puts it
"a dress glove extending above the wrist"
Mauve, fuzzy, and fingerless
Wool and woven in a swirling pattern
Gloves to cover the wrist and forget the digits
Functional for movement,
But useless in preserving warmth
A ladybug lands in my itchy palm
And nestles for warmth in the crotched crevices
That a hasty knitter overlooked.
The insect is a Cache Valley surprise,
An oddity in the thirty degree weather.
The ladybug invades my Gauntlet, which Webster also defines as
"a glove worn with medieval armor to protect the hand"
I remembered something about you then
This unexpected figure in my life
Born of springtime, rare and magnificent,
Trying to force yourself into the holes of my history
Into the icy depths of my wintertime soul.
Your presence is encroaching
Ladybugs are not meant to survive
in this frigid atmosphere,
and I refuse to let your springtime love,
into my glacial heart.
You issue the Gauntlet, defined by Webster as
an open challenge (as to combat)
You, my wishful lover, are
Hopeful that with your round red cap
And sunny spirit, you can somehow change me
That you can mend my amaranthine fray-ments,
And fix the holes I’ve overlooked.
Wool and woven in a swirling pattern
Gloves to cover the wrist and forget the digits
Functional for movement,
But useless in preserving warmth
A ladybug lands in my itchy palm
And nestles for warmth in the crotched crevices
That a hasty knitter overlooked.
The insect is a Cache Valley surprise,
An oddity in the thirty degree weather.
The ladybug invades my Gauntlet, which Webster also defines as
"a glove worn with medieval armor to protect the hand"
I remembered something about you then
This unexpected figure in my life
Born of springtime, rare and magnificent,
Trying to force yourself into the holes of my history
Into the icy depths of my wintertime soul.
Your presence is encroaching
Ladybugs are not meant to survive
in this frigid atmosphere,
and I refuse to let your springtime love,
into my glacial heart.
You issue the Gauntlet, defined by Webster as
an open challenge (as to combat)
You, my wishful lover, are
Hopeful that with your round red cap
And sunny spirit, you can somehow change me
That you can mend my amaranthine fray-ments,
And fix the holes I’ve overlooked.
ORIGINALS
A Strangers Apathy
(An Elegy Poem)
-
The water's been running
Steam engulfs the room
A deep fog settles in
Penetrating sight
I grope for the wall
Tripping over a hairbrush
Reaching the counter
I grasp the edges
of the cool ivory
A scream
A swiping motion
Desperate to reveal my reflection
on the damp glass
Swipe after swipe
there is no progress
My image is lost
Dam the water!
Make it stop
let a cool breeze in
Clear this fog,
let vision reinsue.
Please, I beg you.
Do not cause me to weep longer-
My tears have clouded
everything I've known.
No one answers.
My shoulders collapse
I am defeated
I can no longer see myself
hopelessness is by far
the very worst
purgatory. losing identity.
I shudder.
Silently, the glue dissolves,
I shatter.
The ground welcomes
the stranger- the It- I've become.
What was left, if anything, has vanished.
Reaching the waters edge,
It slips into a decrepit insanity.
Decaying, It lets the water consume my body whole.
Marias Comments: Make it more clear what is happening, is this a metaphorical loss of identity, or an actual suicide? Add more specifics, create the scene more. Describe why this is happening. Like the hairbrush reference.
Marias Comments: Make it more clear what is happening, is this a metaphorical loss of identity, or an actual suicide? Add more specifics, create the scene more. Describe why this is happening. Like the hairbrush reference.
Ode: The Rain: Thinking out loud about the water cycle--cool! I especially liked the phrase "unexpected baptism." I wonder if you could hint more overtly at what the rain, and its potential, might mean, metaphorically, to your life right now? I good model for this mixing of internal/external re: weather is Shelley's "Ode to the West Wind," probably available online with a quick Google.
Ode: The Rain
Nothing can quite reflect so accuratly
my secret emotions like the rain.
The clouds bottle up their insides
and only let go when there is too much to contain
they have to burst. Down the wet beads
purse against my window leaving irradescent trails
that intertwine and combine and finally dissolve-
until tiny, minute streaks stain the once spotless pane.
Umbrellas are not trendy, and I tend to go without
their protection, because no harm can come from
this unexpected baptism, this opportunity
to wash away the dirt and try a new start.
I revel in the moisture, as it seeps onto my shirt
Creating damp poka dots that spread into
colorful puddles, which eventally fade, the longer
I stand and let myself become drenched.
One soaking disaster, I trudge through the puddles-
the glorious meeting spot of all the droplets,
as they rejoin with kin after the long journey
of falling through space and time and the vast
expanse of sky. I wonder if they miss before
the fall, when everything changed.
Do they like their transformation?
Did they enjoy the trip?
Or can they simply not contain themselves,
praying for the sun to come out-
to start the evaporation cycle
so they can return home to the big grey
clouds, that wrap them in billowy folds,
that hug them tightly and encase them
in white love that never lies-
Until the clouds open their eyes
and let their tears fall, as I cry too
wrapped in my fluffy white comforter,
pleading to be held and understood
by the clouds, to be carried up
into the heavens, with the empathetic rain drops.
To rest, from the secret plagues
and the rage, and the discontent
of being left here when the rain evaporates again.
Nothing can quite reflect so accuratly
my secret emotions like the rain.
The clouds bottle up their insides
and only let go when there is too much to contain
they have to burst. Down the wet beads
purse against my window leaving irradescent trails
that intertwine and combine and finally dissolve-
until tiny, minute streaks stain the once spotless pane.
Umbrellas are not trendy, and I tend to go without
their protection, because no harm can come from
this unexpected baptism, this opportunity
to wash away the dirt and try a new start.
I revel in the moisture, as it seeps onto my shirt
Creating damp poka dots that spread into
colorful puddles, which eventally fade, the longer
I stand and let myself become drenched.
One soaking disaster, I trudge through the puddles-
the glorious meeting spot of all the droplets,
as they rejoin with kin after the long journey
of falling through space and time and the vast
expanse of sky. I wonder if they miss before
the fall, when everything changed.
Do they like their transformation?
Did they enjoy the trip?
Or can they simply not contain themselves,
praying for the sun to come out-
to start the evaporation cycle
so they can return home to the big grey
clouds, that wrap them in billowy folds,
that hug them tightly and encase them
in white love that never lies-
Until the clouds open their eyes
and let their tears fall, as I cry too
wrapped in my fluffy white comforter,
pleading to be held and understood
by the clouds, to be carried up
into the heavens, with the empathetic rain drops.
To rest, from the secret plagues
and the rage, and the discontent
of being left here when the rain evaporates again.
Silent: Good job using blank verse! Your metrical and stanzaic awareness really holds the poem together, aesthetically. Your rhyme scheme might make the language too forced when you write, "I shut the world out, bottle up my mind"--that line trips me up, since the whole poem seems to be about an opening of the speaker's (your) mind. I like the sense, overall, that the poem is an example of thinking out loud, weighing counter-arguments and making tentative evaluations.
Silent
I know I cannot write about Gay Marriage
My religious views condemn me doing so
For it's taboo to feel the way I do now
So I'll just shut my mouth about the vote
Everyone's behind the proposition
Everyone it seems except for me
They say this it is simply too immoral
But I believe it happens naturally
For why would someone choose to be an outcast?
disowned, reviled, by family, kin and friends?
And if they didn't choose this different lifestyle
Then how can we in "rightness" condemn them?
I was taught to help and love my brother
But now you say that this exceptions fine
I'm so confused in everything I stand for
I shut the world out, bottle up my mind
I still believe that families are forever
And that everyone can gain eternity
But if families are so central to this purpose
Then why would God confuse sexuality?
It seems unfair to tell these "lost" church fellows
That because of their "confused" identity
They'll be denied what I as someone "normal"
Can have and gain in all morality
Everyone deserves some love in this world
It seems too hard to go at it alone
And if you're made to love a same sex person
I still don't see why that is so so wrong
In a world so thickly lined with hate and malice
How could any love be bad at all?
But my church seems to see it very different
And my opinions strictly frowned upon
And people tell me I'm a bad church member
Because I won't go canvas for the cause
But I don't understand in any season
Why a kind God would make people gay at all
I know all trials are not created equal
But banning love just seems to go too far
I cannot see how everyones so gung-ho
Behind this newest ban gay marriage law
I know I cannot write about Gay Marriage
My religious views condemn me doing so
For it's taboo to feel the way I do now
So I'll just shut my mouth about the vote
Everyone's behind the proposition
Everyone it seems except for me
They say this it is simply too immoral
But I believe it happens naturally
For why would someone choose to be an outcast?
disowned, reviled, by family, kin and friends?
And if they didn't choose this different lifestyle
Then how can we in "rightness" condemn them?
I was taught to help and love my brother
But now you say that this exceptions fine
I'm so confused in everything I stand for
I shut the world out, bottle up my mind
I still believe that families are forever
And that everyone can gain eternity
But if families are so central to this purpose
Then why would God confuse sexuality?
It seems unfair to tell these "lost" church fellows
That because of their "confused" identity
They'll be denied what I as someone "normal"
Can have and gain in all morality
Everyone deserves some love in this world
It seems too hard to go at it alone
And if you're made to love a same sex person
I still don't see why that is so so wrong
In a world so thickly lined with hate and malice
How could any love be bad at all?
But my church seems to see it very different
And my opinions strictly frowned upon
And people tell me I'm a bad church member
Because I won't go canvas for the cause
But I don't understand in any season
Why a kind God would make people gay at all
I know all trials are not created equal
But banning love just seems to go too far
I cannot see how everyones so gung-ho
Behind this newest ban gay marriage law
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