3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #19

Ahh, today, I have been given another challenge, from the same person as before. Yep, It seems no one else is being brave about challenging me...or nobody's reading. And since I KNOW some of you out there ARE reading, all I gotta say - and I apologize in advance for hurting your ears with this - "Wassup with dat shizizzle?" Ok, thsoe are words I don't think I should ever say again. So, in order to keep me from saying them again and hurting you in this fashion, send me stuff - ideas...whatever. It is, after all, a challenge.....

So the challenge I was given is another "react to this" challenge, with the added, "ok, so you can mirror some of my stuff well, but show me what you really think" element added in. To my friend I will say simply, "You asked for it."

This one was done significantly later than his high school years - he didn't say precisely when, nor did I ask. I'm guessing, from the tone, however, that it was after he fell in love with Medieval English Literature. Who knows? You decide. I do like certain elements of his poem - some nice allusions, illiterations, etc., and there are certain things I don't care for - but to like it or not I leave up to you. So here we go:

Even Fireflies Die

The Sun slowly slides into the west
Fires of heaven enrapture clay
Though brilliantly born, death is best
That glowing host, that enlightened day
Yet the mother reclaims her lost child
Like the Shepard and his flock of sheep
For she longs for him, fiery wild
Every way, he to live, she to sleep
Loath to let go, eager to take home
Another future is yet unmade
Blue of her water, blue of her dome
Though relieved today, is still afraid
At last the fading fiery mess
Descends below the still silent sea
And Night, the ever-jealous mistress
Stretches forth her hand to beckon me
As the lightning fades, and Night grows on
Crickets chirp, the air, despondency
Is the magic and the stillness gone
As twilight gives way in memory
To that still darkness whence life sprang from
As in the beginning, is now here
It is that evil which I fear’st come
For my soul, it whispers in my ear
Icy despair, entreating upon
The soft blackness of Night, washing o’er
My countenance and my courage gone
In the fields of life, She the sower
Of secrets, shoulder to those who moan
Upon the visit of her soft kiss
In Night, as in Light, my life I own
For as each day dawns, ‘tis Night I miss
Yet I fear her, long do I run, far
Away from her quiet, silky lips
Unlike day, I cannot seem to shun
The coldness of grave, from whence she ships
But even in the Night, there is hope
As I look up, gazing to the skies
It is impossible, yet I cope
For around me, I see Fireflies
They are the souls of my ancestors
Given wings to guide my lonely way
Hearing the songs of thy creators
Ringing in mine ears, what do they say
They say hark my son, know where you go
To the isles of the dead do you tread
Where those who have passed reap what they sow
Follow not Night – stay – eat of thy bread
For bread gives you life, life of the dawn
So stop in your tracks and go not forth
Follow not Night, no matter how drawn
Instead, follow our lights, which lead north
Toward Elysium, home of thy dreams
Magical land of forbidden lore
Where wishes become more than what seems
Possible, earthly pleasures, and more
For we are thy hope and salvation
They cry, as they lead mine eyes away
From that dark beauty, Night’s creation
But in blackness resides Death, I say
I do see the dark, dreaded reaper
Come to take me to a home I fear
Though my soul’s free, my body’s keeper
Lies beneath, coming nigh, coming here
The Fireflies sing, sing in mine ear
Of life and beauty, that I might touch
I stretch forth my hand, I wish it near
Yet as in my dreams, my dreams are such
As to enlighten and enliven
Thou salty imagination much
Beyond the vast, wrathful horizon
Of sweet dreams, that I longingly clutch
But to my Elysium, I go not
For though the Night draws in, still I see
My hopeless dream, it is but forgot
With my life now, in darkness, in me
As the glowing stars by clouds cover
And the dusty winds begin to fright
I live, by Fireflies, or other
Graces of her majesty, the Night
In the end she rules my life, does she
For though the power of birth is grand
Only in the Night, may I be free
So I gaze up, and stretch forth my hand
As Fireflies stop, land in my palm
Glowing so brightly, I cannot pray
I close my eyes, and utter a psalm
To my huntress Night, and av’tar, Day
I am unbound – from you – no – from me
I live for the Truth, who lives for I
So as I close my hand, I am free
For in Night, even Fireflies die.

and, for a non-mirrored response.....

The Importance of Fireflies

In the guise of Truth and Light,
I come, with torches burning bright,
to see the path, drive out the Night,
And set the fireflies to flight.

For I would have you blind by Day,
And sweep all Night's dreams away,
care only for the things I say,
forget the need of Dreaming's sway.

Free the mind, enslave the soul,
Just drink from Day's ample bowl,
No need of fireflies to make you whole,
When Knowledge is the Daylight's goal.

All things are plain under sunny sky,
Myst'ry gone little firefly,
To questioners all I can supply
the answer - to all but "why?".

Well, there we have it. Holy crap - I rhymed???? Yeah, yeah, it happens from time to time. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed today's offering!

Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid

3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #18

With all that been going on, it's hard to believe we're already more than halfway done, but here we are on day 18. Not too shabby thus far! Some very nice comments from a few of you so far, and some nice participation from a couple individuals, too. Thanks for your efforts, and keep them coming!!!!

A lot of people ask me, 'Why do this? It's not like you're getting published or anything like that." In part, these people who ask this question are correct. I'm not really getting published, and I certainly don't get paid for any of this. And poetry? Who reads that stuff anymore?

I write for many reasons. One - I like it, dammit. So there! Two - I believe that you never know who will read something and take inspiration from it. It's not that everything has deep seeded meaning to everyone, but occasionally, soemthing strikes a chord with someone, and for just that little moment, I made their lives a little better. Words - they be powerful mojo. It's hard to see hope sometimes in our world. If I can help someone remember to hope or dream for a day, I'd say it is worth it. Three - by the time this month is up, I will have created a body of poetry that is 90 poems strong, all compiled in one place. Not bad. Four - I write because I must. It's that easy.

But hey, let's get on to another poem, shall we? We're burning daylight here!

The Cafe

Cold evening bites just enough,
plodding softly along the sidewalk,
looking through the closed-up storefronts
of businesses closed for the day,
I see the little cafe.
And in the window like long-forgotten monuments
a couple sits, enjoying their talk,
I turn and walk away in a huff.



Short one, today, but I kind of like it. A few technical things going on for fun, and hopefully, a nice little bit of imagery, too.

Thanks forreading,
The Fat Kid

3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #17

Another day, and another poem! But before we get to that, I have to stop for a minute and say a HUGE thanks to the people who have thus far supported my fundraising efforts for the MS-150 coming up in June. I won't name names here, but you know who you are, and you have my gratitude. Thank you, thank you, thank you. It means so much. Thank you for believing in me, and in this cause. Also, if you haven't donated yet but would like to, either see me in person, donate from the link to my page (all you FB-ers out there) or contact me and I can supply you with ways to donate.

OK, now let's have a poem!

I remember looking up,
verdant fields prickling tender skin
on a blue-sky day in June.
Above me, clouds lumbered
across the sky, like the big elephants
they resembled.
I longed to reach out to them,
to soar among them, play in their puffy whiteness,
but I could not reach.
Now, I wish I could return to that time,
before I knew that clouds were nothing but rain
the world couldn't hold onto,
and the grasses prickled
as I watched the circus parade go by.


Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid

3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #16

No matter how much you try and prepare yourself for things, you can never quite get there, I think, and I find myself in that situation now. The Fat Kid is blessed, really to have been able to spend time and get to know both his grandmothers and one grandfather. Not everyone is that lucky in life. Now, one of my grandmothers is having a very tough time with her health, and it's very likely that I will soon have to attend a funeral. It sucks. We don't prepare for funerals, we prepare for birthdays. Those, we can prepare for. So forgive me if some of the next few days of poems are a bit darker and morose, if you will.

Benediction

Time, at last to say farewell,
to turn a heel with trimmed accuracy,
saluting a life lived in fullness.
The last thing left to do before
it is finished.


I don't think this needs to be any longer. I wish I could turn off the critic who dissects poems today.

Thanks for reading,

The Fat Kid

3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #15

ACK! I've got ten minutes to get a poem written!

Emptiness

The experts say you should never
write a poem
about grand subjects:
love
lonliness
despair
anger
hatred
anything extreme at all.
Then why write anything,
unless it is pushed and pulled, prodded
by some unseen force, driving it from
within you,
until you have no choice
but to write it.

Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid

3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #14

Hi Everybody! Wow - suddenly that sounded like I was at a telethon for some reason. Let's try this again.

If you're enjoying poetry and general laughter like this, and want to ensure that you can continue to enjoy the fine programming we at fatkidbiking want to deliver to you, then all it takes is a phone call and your pledge of support. You don't have to give a lot, but every dollar you give goes directly to help the Fat Kid waste a few minutes of your day with his lunacies.

Now who couldn't love something like that? See, it's like "Saving Skreetch's House" but better, because I'm not already famous. BUT YOU CAN GET ME THERE!!!!!! LOL
So glad my ego is in check today.

Anyway, let's have some poetry. after all, that's what this month is really all about. Well, and starting personal finance drives. It's like "The People Fund."

Sentinal Lions

Flowing manes, waving in the breeze
like the dry grasses of the steppe,
Revealing curled lip and unflinching eye,
a warning, perhaps, to those who might not be welcome.
A single paw raises,
setting atop a shield bearing no sigil.
Silently, they watch,
skin stretched tightly over ribs that can be counted,
haunches lean and lithe.
Ready to pounce at the first moment
when danger calls,
These two, my pets.
Motion captured in stone,
Forever greeting and warning both
Silent judges at the end of the drive.

Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid

3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #13

Friday the 13th!!! This probably calls for some silly horror-type poem. I dunno. When I think of stuff like that, I'm reminded of what I think was my fisrt ever forray into the land of poetry, back in the 5th grade. We had to write something of a story for halloween, and I wrote this poem - well, collection of rhyming couplets, anyway - that was, for a 5th grader, decently impressive. It's funny, but I remember how it was created. I put a sweatshirt over the lamp in my room to direct the light, and it set a mood....the words took over from there, and it just spilled out onto the page. I tried that again over the next few years, directing the light to inspire my creativity, taking my cues from it. Who knew that 25 years later, I would find myself still playing with words? Part of me wishes I had that piece now, and I'd share with you all, but alas, I think it went the way of the dodo a LONG time ago - probably for the best! But - this tiny little anectdote can serve for a little inspiration for today's poem, I think!!

The Writing Room

The room is dark already,
faux-wood panelling on every wall,
it bulges out in places
where the nails have come loose
from the horse-hair plaster.

Heavy pine shelves host
rows of National Geographic
only liked for their photos.
The light is shrouded, dim beams
shining down on a black-and-white
desk.
There sits a boy, taking a first step
to opening the world,
his pencil sharp as the light leads him.
He only knows he cannot stop until it's done.

The words,
the light,
the moment,
the now,
the world,
the work,
the idea - yes, the idea!

And in this space,
a darkened room in the farmhouse
at the end of the sidewalk of a
nowhere town,
a Writer begins.


Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid