Amelie and I were sitting on the porch yesterday and she says she is bored. My children have never said they are bored. So we chatted and I suggested poetry. She wrinkled her nose but then listened. I told her that in college I used to write poems and really enjoyed it. She asked me to take out my book of poems and we read through a few. She is off now on a poetry craze. She has been writing poems and looking up different rules about poems. Yes, she is my daughter who never stops.
I am going to share one of my poems that I wrote in college. I may end up sharing others but I will choose the one.
Only two people on the sidewalk
an old homeless woman
carrying her wardrobe in a paper bag
and a couple of feet behind her walks a respectful man in his 30's.
He is walking a pace faster than she-
so in a short time he will catch up to her.
In one stride he passes her and continues to walk his pace.
Only a foot between them, with her raspy voice-
she calls out to the man.
He holds his breath and turns around expecting her to
ask for some spare change that she will only spend on booze.
After getting his attention she says...
You know, for a second there, it sure looked like we
were walking together, didn't it?
That Unfortunate Soul (one more)
Wandering aimlessly through broken cities
he covers his unimportant being with sheaths of dirty wear
one eye intact, two ears to hear
frost bit, bug eaten hands
scurry to find the comfort of a satisfied stomach.
The warmth consisting only in his mind
where thoughts of dandelions and colorful jellybeans dance.
Memories are his company
Visions of uneaten bread and windows from the inside
Fire glowing, he laughs with the world
the being with a wisdom of his surroundings, a knowledge of people
Lies on a sidewalk with hope and content.
Slaying past his people, briefcase at hand
Outstanding, beautiful at the sight
Washed clean clothes
accepted by society
Successful at every challenge, every thought created
holding an importance given to him at birth
Stomach full, he laughs at the world
Deadlines holding him in their hands of entrapment
Hurrying through life, never quite there yet
His ignorant mind consisting only of wanted happiness
He screams from the inside, wanting a way out
cring into his unsuccessful hands, he wakes up to another dreadful day.
I used to love writing poetry.