Life as never so good as automobile troubles can't get in the way, and my life is no exception. Yep, brakes gave out on the way home from work the other day. Oh fun, what joy. No worries, I'm safe, but it sorta puts a few things into perspective, when you're just not sure if you're going to be able to stop your moving vehicle. At any rate, all is safe, and all will be fixed shortly. Adam, Fate is hating me at the moment. You can have Fate's ire back any time you want it!
Despite Fate not being my biggest fan at the moment, though, was asked today what I thought of the Boston Marathon bombings. And I must say, I'm sick of it. I'm sick of the way that we feel the need to destroy each other, to hurt each other, to maim and dismember one another, over things that are, to be sure, petty. It makes me ask the same old question, "How are we the ultimate creation of this planet?" Whether you believe in evolution or in creationism, we simply have to ask, "how is it that Man was chosen to progress?" How did nothing beat us out, if this is how we treat one another? It offers little to hope for. So I take hope where I can get it: from my imagination. These poems have nothing to do with current events, other than perhaps the mood and tone. I hope you enjoy.
Dreaming
Sometimes, I lie back and watch
the clouds move about the sky,
forming and reforming time and again,
and make them into shapes in my mind,
that fight and collide in kingly battle,
yet no blood is spilled.
Visions of gods and men,
nature and industry,
go forth, playing out their fate
on a background of blue,
Only to form into something new, beautiful,
boundless.
I envy the clouds.
Love Is
A mother holds her young,
born without arms,
pink and wriggly-wrinkled
in a soft blanket,
She does not care,
she speaks to the child,
caresses the tiny face,
nuzzles it close,
knowing life will be hard all the while.
A woman and man hold each other,
dance timelessly,
while onlookers smile and remember,
and worry about the future,
knowing that they have only a few short months
before she dies.
A grandfather rests,
a football game on,
while his wife makes dinner in the next room,
only to find out that she made dinner for one.
And it's not fair.
Not fair that all these people
learned, in the simple day-to-day moments,
That even in the midst of tragedy,
Love still exists.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
1 comment:
The first poem reads well enough and holds together, yet also feels very conventional. I like the sentiment, don’t get me wrong, but this definitely has a “haven’t I heard this before?” kind of sway to it.
Poem two, by contrast, shows a lot more development. I like structure of the poem, the brief cuts. I like the snapshot-esque quality, the touching of moments, light and meaningful. I also like the bittersweet quality in these moments – the sadness actually accentuates the sweetness. What surprised me about this poem was the last stanza. What’s not fair about finding love exists even in tragedy? I find that sentiment very interesting, and wonder what prompted such a view. Definitely one of my favorite poems so far this month!
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