Poetry Callenge v. 4.0, Day 5

There's a lot of hubbub lately in the news.  In fact, it stretches a lot further than the news, and it's become a viable part of our everytday lives.  No, it's not gun legislation.  No, it's not gay marriage.  No, it's not North Korea.  It's not the environment.  It's also not poverty, our economy, womens' rights, religions' rights, taxes, death, or even the question that can never be answered in this lifetime, "is there a god?"  It's none of these things at all, though it has a bearing on each of them.  Frankly, I don't understand it.  Oh, I understand that people feel differently about the "issues" and everyone has "THE answer."  That much is plain.  But I have to wonder that if everyone has THE answer, why no one seems to be practicing it.  The problem is anger.

We are all so busy being angry over the injustice we perceive in our daily lives - against the environment, against foreigners, by governments against their people, by neighbor against neighbor - that so many of us have lost what it means to find peace and contentment where we can.  Instead, we just get angrier and angrier with one another.  Friendships are tested, families are torn apart, relationships fail.  All because of anger.  I just don't understand it.

But - it's great fuel for poetry.

Tired

"I'm tired," said the man.
"Of what?" said his wife.
"Just tired."
"I'm boring you?"
"No, I'm just tired."
"I'm not important?"
"Just tired."
"I'm not smart enough?"
"Just tired."
"My thoughts don't count?"
"Just tired."
"I'm less than you?"
"Just tired."
"You're not all that smart, you know."
"Just tired."
"You're no better than me!"
"Just tired."
"You always fight."
"Just tired."
"Why should I have to do what you say?"
"Just tired."
"I'm just as important as you!"
"I'm tired - I'm going to bed."



Thanks for reading,

The Fat Kid

Poetry Project, V. 4.0, Day 4

I often find it tempting to just simply pilfer from poets one might actually consider "great."  No, not for an entire post, but more like stealing the first line of a poem and seeing where I can go from there, if there was an avenue yet unexplored, or, to put it in poetic terms, a "road not taken."  I suppose, in some strange way, this is a good exercise, but probably one that I will never attempt to really fall back on.  It feels like cheating, even if it's just a couple words.  Actually, now that I think of it, it seems like it really could be a fun exercise to do some day - a "poetry gone wrong" sort of experiment.  You know, like a "reader's digest condensed and malformed poetry - A primer on what not to do."  I would hate to see what might happen to nursery rhymes at that point, or fairy tales.  Of course, with my luck, that just gave someone the next idea for a Tony-Award-Winning Broadway production, for which I shall never receive credit.  C'est la vie.

At any rate, that's something I still don't feel like I should do in this venue.  It's irresponsible, and really not challenging me much at all to start with something someone else also started with.  Kinda not the point.  Despite evidence to the contrary provided to us by Wierd Al Yankovic, that is not how you become a legend.  Yes, becoming a legend is my goal.  How it happens...well, as long it's not a cautionary tale like an E! Tur Hollywood Story or the next newsclipping starring Lindsey Lohan, or a mention in the Darwin Awards, I don't much care how it happens.

Moves
e4 - obvious start
c6 - are you sure?
Nf3 - solidify
d6 - not aggressive
Bc4 - calculated opening, safety assured.
Nf6 - finally!
Ng5 - I don't think this can be stopped.
e6 - except by that.
a4 - secure the flank
Be7 - I've played this game before.
What was the answer here? 
I don't remember!
Why am I always in the same place?
This isn't progress.
I'm playing the same thing I always do.
The result is the same.
I need to invent something,
change something,
come at the problem from the other side,
ANYTHING.
I know how this ends.
O-O.

OK, perhaps this one's a little enigmatic, but for those who do like the game of chess, it might actually make some sense.  For those who don't....what a great time to learn, yes?? 

Thanks for reading,

The Fat Kid.

Poetry Project, V.4.0, Day 3

I had a conversation recently with my father, in which I mentioned when it is that I'm the happiest.  It turns out that I am the most happy when I am creating something.  It doesn't matter what the medium - I'm simply happy when I create.  Te very act of creating is both relaxing and stimulating simultaneously.  Whether it's a the simple action of sanding a piece of wood until smooth, or writing a poem, or painting a picture, or even just cooking dinner, there is something about me that is inherently connected with the act of creating things.  On the whole, I even tend to be decently good at it, too.  Not the best, but certainly not the worst.  On the whole, I think that's a pretty good place to be.  But it was this conversation that got me thinking about the act of creating, and that I wanted to write about it.  Thus, we have today's poem.

The Blacksmith

I miss the sound-
 hammerfalls,pinching hot metal against cold,
 a ringing in my ears
 and the muscle memory of the shock in my hands.
You learn to absorb it,
 see through the sweat as it drips,
 stinging the eyes as the metal cools all too fast
 and the shape begins to form.
Heat, motion, iron, sweat -
 a meeting of man and metal,
 giving soul to the earth
 and strength to the body.
One cannot be without the other -
 the interplay of will
 their combat
 on a field between this world and the next.
What was, what is, what can be -
 as each gives his all
 with every strike
 to forge something new within the other.

Perhaps a bit vague and enigmatic - probably more simplistic and silly, if you really want to look at it.  I can't decide, personally.  But, that's part of the point of doing this thing every April: to take a journey, and to share it with those who might be willing to take a few minutes to read. 

Thanks for reading,

The Fat Kid

Poetry Challenge, V. 4, Day 2

I was asked today if I found it a challenge to get back into writing a poem each day.  In truth, the answer is not really, because for the last 11 months, I have been thinking from time to time about poetry, and what kinds of poems I would like to write.  I don't put fingers to keyboard on these ideas, but every once in a while, I entertain a few topics.  When the time comes to jump back into the daily challenge, I've got a few ideas of some of the things I want to write, and now find myself with the excuse to get to write them!  It's kinda nice how that works out, isn't it?

Some things, like yesterday's, are things that I see every day, or experience often enough that I can entertain them a lot.  The Twi-Lite Motel is actually something I pass on my daily commute, and I often think about what the place might have been like, since the building is gone now.  It's things like that, encountered regularly, that might make it into poems.  Often, I don't know what the poem will look like, and that is half the fun.  But the challenge of staying into the method of poetry writing beyond a week or so...that's when it gets tough.  I've been stockpiling ideas for a little while in the beginning.

But that's enough about the origins of some of my ideas.  I know you're only reading this so that you can experience more poetry!!!  Today's offering is in honor of an old friend who is a little disheartened at the moment.  Life has been less than lucky for her of late.

The Unlucky One

On the keychain is a rabbit's foot,
a silver dollar rests under your pillow,
a dreamcatcher over the bed,
thread and feathers and hoop.
Near the door, a horsehoe hangs,
over the peg that holds the lucky hat,
that leather jacket you always wear out nearby,
it goes so well with that red shirt to offset your hair.
Trinkets.
Faith in them misplaced,
trust, a thing of folly.
It is not enough to hear your worth,
it must be known and lived,
amidst the storm of denial, rejection,
that feeling that you are utterly alone.
It is the test for the Unlucky,
and those who never face it have not lived.


Thanks for reading,

The Fat Kid

National Poetry Month Challenge, Version 4.0

Well, in what may seem to be the cruelest April Fool's joke of all, it's the beginning of National Poetry Month, and so, the beginning of the 4th Annual challenge to write a new poem every day for the month of April.  Yep, I'm at it again, as was recently promised!! 

This past year has been a whirlwind of things for me: moving, a wonderful new relationship with the most amazing woman I've ever known, and some new ground personally - both in emotional growth and a sort of spiritual renewal - have put me in a place that I haven't been in quite a while.  I'm grateful for all those that read and share in my journey.  Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.  Your friendship, understanding, love and fellowship have been a large part of my personal growth, and I dearly hope that you enjoy this installment of my yearly journey. 

As always, comments are welcome.  I don't ask that you enjoy everything, or that you "get" everything - merely that you read and hopefully get a glimpse of my encounters with the world.  Participation is good - feel free to send me anything if you become inspired, and I will post your work alongside my own.  I ask that you please keep criticisms on the constructive side.  "I hate this" messages just don't do anything but inspire resentment, and who needs that?  If you hate it...at least tell me why, or you can keep your opinion to yourself.

Largely, what I put up here is very rarely edited, though I usually do check for spelling.  While I believe that editing and re-working poems can be a good thing, it takes away some of the raw energy that comes with simply writing.  Sometimes, it's that unpolished feel that really brings out emotion.  So that's what you're getting when you read my stuff.  Now that you know what you're in for...let's get started, shall we??


Twi-Lite Motel

Three lone pines stand sentry
beside a cracked basin, stark white against the weeds,
rumors only of the Twi-Lite Motel.
Beneath the boughs, a stubborn pile of concrete and rubble,
refuse someone carried over the decaying bridge.
I pass by the rusted sign pole with its faded plastic words,
the only reason I know what used to be here,
and see the past: a low building with loud air conditioners that left
puddles on the sidewalks outside the doors
while high school proms ended here,
and new lives began.
Small things, they seem now, that once were monumental dreams,
lost in a pile of rubble beneath the boughs of three pines,
over a bridge no one can cross again.

Thanks for reading,

The Fat Kid

Almost April!!!!!

Hello, Bloggiverse!

Yes, it's the end of March, which means a couple of very important things:
1) If you're in the great state of NY, I think trout season begins on April 1st.  Always a good thing, with cold streams and active fish!
2) April is National Poetry Month, and yes, if you've been following along the last few years, that means it's time for the 4th Annual Poetry Month Challenge, where I try and write a poem-a-day for a month! 

Yeah, yeah, I know, is it really a challenge if I've already done three of them?  Yes, actually, it is.  It's still trying to create something each day that I don't mind other people seeing.  It ain't easy, kids.  Ask any writer - not only is it difficult to come up with stuff, it's difficult to put it out there where you know others will see it, critique it in their own heads, and possibly ridicule you for writing it in the first place.  Luckily, most of the folks who read my work are nice enough to lay off the ridiculing end - thanks for that, by the way - but it's still not easy.

I know that many people out there don't "get" poetry, and don't really know how to go about getting it, either.  They may read a work by Frost, or Poe, or perhaps Ms. Dickinson, and say, "Yes, those are lovely words - very pretty sentiments." And they're not wrong to say so.  And to a lot of people, that's as deep as poetry goes - flowery words and pretty sentiments.  Some still think that poetry MUST rhyme, and that it has to have a lot of "thee" and "thou" and "forsooths" and many other largely antiquated terms that most Americans associate with that thing they were forced to read once in a high school English class.  So why should I continue to write it and share it? 

Because I must.  To me, poetry doesn't mean that I'm trying to impart some greater message, or that I'm trying to take a political stance.  It's about finding beauty in the everyday, and simply talking about it, sharing how I see the world.  That's it - it's a vision.  A vision of the poet, shared in words (hopefully, in my case) artistic.  Sometimes, it means dealing with issues that are not fun - it means dealing with some pretty unsavory topics, when I encounter them. 

This April, with some of the themes I'm considering, I will be sharing encounters good and bad.  It's my hope that through a few words, any who read my ramblings will be able to udnerstand  little of how I see the world around me.  I hope you'll enjoy!

Thanks for reading,

The Fat Kid

Yesterday's Mail

There's nothing quite like getting home from work and checking the mail to see what awesomeness the post office brought you today.  Well, I canme home from work, and opened the envelope that was in the mail, and was completely baffled at the following words:

"We've noticed that you have yet to register with us..."  Yadda, yadda, yadda.  Now, OK, it's obviously a sales technique, and I'm ok with that.  I mean, I'm GLAD they're paying attention to the fact that I've not registered with them, that's all well and good.  It makes me wonder, though, at the records-keeping/getting that this company uses, and just how it is they've managed to get my name.  Oh, I'm sure there's a list out there somewhere that gets sold around and around, and my name's on it.  That's great - but generally speaking, if I want a product, I'll look into purchasing said product and then take care of such things on my own.  I don't really want people mailing me to tell me what I already know I haven't done, or worse, that I haven't purchased something I already know I don't really want to purchase.

But that's where this turns a little funny.  See, the people telling me that I've not registered with them?  AARP!  Yes, the American Association of Retired Persons is very aware that I am not one of them!  I am SO glad they've figured this out!  Now, maybe - just maybe - this would be forgiveable if I was of the age where a membership in the AARP would be useful.  I mean, if I was 55 and could actually GET benefits through the AARP, ok, I might be interested in buying....but they're juuuuuuuust a few years early on this - like 20 or so years.  Really, AARP?  I don't know how much you spent on this mailing and free offer of whatever sort (honestly, I stopped reading after about two sentences) but I'm pretty sure that it was some retiree's cash that helped pay for it.  If you're going to spend someone else's money on stuff like this, shouldn't you at least do a better job of finding people who actually qualify for the product you're selling?

I was briefly tempted to send them back a letter that read something like this:

"Dear AARP -
     Thank you so much for your invitation to join your fraternity - I didn't even know you were considering me!  I am truly honored to be given the chance to wear your letters, and can't wait to begin receiving the benefits of membership immediately upon paying my dues.  Obviously, since you contacted me, you understand the benefits I can bring to your organization, and therefore, I feel I should be rightly compensated immediately upon my acceptance of your gracious invite.  Among the many things I can't wait to participate in:
Senior Day at Denny's
discounts on travel
no more paying income taxes
knowing the greeters at Wal-Mart by name
no more commuting
There are really so many, I just don't know if I can count them all.  And, I get admitted early to your fraternity - you must really think me extra-special.  Thank you!  I really look forward to the Saturday night keggers!
Regards,
The Fat Kid
P.S. - I just filled out my retirement papers from work!!!"

I wonder what they would say?  Moreover, I wonder how many people my age would send this back in and attempt to scam the system - it IS awfully tempting, after all.  Of course, my better nature prevailed this time, and I didn't send it back, nor did I write such a letter.  I will probably look them up online and tell them what a bunch of crack-pot researchers they have, to get my name on their list.  Really, it shouldn't be that hard to figure out that I don't really fit in with the retired persons crowd.

But in case I didn't feel old, yesterday, while running through the rain attempting to dodge the raindrops, I pulled that little tiny muscle in the back of the calf that basically means I won't be able to push off the ground with my toes for two weeks.  Maybe I ought to re-think that application after all!

Thanks for reading,

The Fat Kid