Last week I wanted to be an artist. Still do by the way, but along the journey to get to be 45 years of old, I happened along poetry. Yeah, I dabble in a little bit of everything. Or, I can’t decided what to do with my spare time. Take your pick. Anyway, something about the emotional investment involved with writing poetry excites me. Most of the time you’re laying yourself bare for all to see. Other times you’re just being a self serving twit. Least, I am, but what is writing if not having fun once in awhile. Today, I decided to showcase two different ends of my spectrum of poems.
This first one I wrote after watching one of my nieces playing in the yard. Something about how happy she looked captured a moment in time for me and I just in turn had to put the snapshot down on paper. Yes, this was back in the old days before fancy laptops. We actually had to use ragged notebooks and ink pens to create wonderful ideas. I still work that way, in case anyone is interested.
Well, here goes.
The whisper of a child plotting forever in an instant.
Her voice, the joy found in the coming of the day.
The monsters locked away until the birth of night.
She runs free among the swaying grass.
Youth a radiant crown perched high upon her head.
Laughter, the song that announces her arrival.
Princess for the day.
Rainbow fairies her playmates, she dances upon air.
A swirling ribbon of happiness her bestest friend.
She sees the promise of butterflies and knows no sadness.
Dreaming visions into the sky of princes,
riding upon golden beams of sunshine coming to whisk her away.
Her eyes wide with joy,
Christmas born anew each day.
She feels the dawn and is its sister.
To see her is to behold the divine truth,
that life is beautiful
and so is she.
This second one is the self serving bit. I had absorbed Dante’s Inferno before writing this, along with some heavy Lovecraft reading on the side, but I wanted to create a world in poetry. A world of darkness where the evil of this world had form and substance. Ideals became stunted reality. You get the idea. Insanity. Whatever the reason, Nevermore was born. There are more, and they do get better.
The nevermore thing
awoke from a dream
of death and suicide,
and decided that life
was worth living
for one more second
before crawling back
into his insanity
to scream out
into the world
before the dreams of consequence
took hold and wiped Ragnarok
across the head of creation,
to contemplate the
floating across the
that crowns the brow of
That’s it for this week. It’s been awhile since I wrote this next bit, but I think today’s blog deserves it.
Another insane missive from Jmo.
Oh and happy reading!