Some Poetry

[jakebe]

This is a poem that begins with the words "this" and "is,"
a simple declarative statement that gives some measure
of information about itself.
It's obviously quite self-aware, and perhaps
a little self-conscious, hoping that jagged line breaks
and self-referential lines are excused as the natural extensions
of an idea cooked up under deadline
at the dead of morning.

It is earnest and it has many things to tell you
but it has no idea how, so it will keep talking about itself,
dancing around what it really wants to say,
hoping that eventually a word, or perhaps
a single line of accidental wit
might trigger a conversation that extends from now
to 3 in the morning, from here
to that all-night coffee-house with the greasy walls
and great pie, the comfortable seats and serviceable joe.

But we all know what metapoems are like;
as high as they reach, they're never as clever
as they think they are.





Remember?
You were naked and your voice
was thick with sleep
you were curled up on the couch with a blanket
draped over you as if you
were part of the furniture.
I remember you were tired but
rumbling with caffeine,
and a sheet draped your shoulders
anointing you as the nakedest, laziest
superhero I've ever seen.

The TV was on.
The room was dark.
Two people were talking on the screen
and so were we.
About childhoods that kept catching up to us
in dark alleys just like this one,
turning our pockets loose for whatever they could find
and punching us in the stomach after we'd given
all we could.

Remember?
We were writhing
motionless
with the natural twists of our intestines,
our own bodies eating us alive because
the insulation had worn thin
and coffee is so acidic between the hours
of midnight and 5 a.m.
All of those things we could have taken better
shouted down at us from the black screen,
the noiseless walls, our own throats.

I remember you
after the quiet
when we let the television have its say.
You were sitting defeated, exhausted
with the sheet draped over your shoulders
a survivor's shawl
and you were battered
and shaken
and proud



I'm participating in National Poetry Writing Month for the third time this year, over on the community napoewrimo with a whole host of folks. It always surprises me how easily I can get back into the groove of writing this stuff, especially when there are so many great poets to be inspired by. :)

If you're interested in joining the community, it's never too late to start! Constructive feedback is always welcome.