I wrote the majority of my poetry during my sophomore and junior years of high school. During one productive stretch, I was pumping out five poems a day.
If you've read any of my previous poetry posts, you know I hadn't lived through anything yet, so they read exactly like you'd imagine a sensitive 16-year-old boy's poetry to read. However, my classmates back then believed I could make a career as a poet. This one critique from a classmate says it all:
Alas, the poetry career, and the aduring harem that comes with it, were not to be (what reality presented to me was much more satisfying in the end). Maybe I'll one day write a novel about a rock star poet and live vicariously through my degenerate, but kind-hearted, protagonist.
If you've read any of my previous poetry posts, you know I hadn't lived through anything yet, so they read exactly like you'd imagine a sensitive 16-year-old boy's poetry to read. However, my classmates back then believed I could make a career as a poet. This one critique from a classmate says it all:
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| Not so much... |
Pennsylvania 6-5000
This song doesn’t go with any of the poetry you’re about to read, but I figured you could use something uplifting before things get grim. My high school jazz band did a rendition of this song that would knock your socks into George Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. I find myself tapping my foot to the rhythm of that ensemble’s superior musical skill even when I don’t hear music playing. Grandma Ford loved attending my high school band’s performances because it brought her back to when she was hotel bar hopping in New York City in the 1940s.
The headline of this blog refers to the lounge the Glenn Miller Orchestra played at the Hotel Pennsylvania in New York City. The phone number for that hotel back in the day? 6-5000. So swill a single malt scotch, get your heart rate up, and enjoy yourself before reading the inner demons of a white high school suburbanite. I’d also encourage shouting throughout the song in the most public place possible as nature intended.
Home
Come in if you like.
Remember to wipe your feet,
I don’t have a vacuum yet.
Have a seat if you like.
There’s plenty of room
on the matching sofa and chair.
Care for a drink?
Sorry,
the fridge is empty.
I’d ask you to spend the night,
but there isn’t even a
bed for me.
Feel free to use the bathroom.
You might want to close
the windows and draw the blinds.
I’d cook you something,
but the stove doesn’t work,
and you wouldn’t want anything that was cooked on it.
I’ll admit it’s not much now,
but just you wait.
In no time at all I’ll having looking like my home!
I have no tears to cry;
no tears to tenderly wipe away.
I have no tears to cry;
no tears to wash away the pain.
I have no tears to cry;
no tears to tickle my cheek.
I have no tears to cry;
no tears to cloud my weary eyes.
I have no tears to cry;
no tears to mask my fears.
I have no tears to cry;
no tears to match your own.
I have no tears to cry;
no tears to share your burden.
Lend me your tears,
so you have no tears to cry.
My blond beauty empties her heart this night.
On this night, her red rose petals die.
My blond beauty cries in my arms in fright.
On this night, for the rebel she cries.
On this night, in her music she hides.
My blond beauty empties her heart this night.
On this night, for the creatures she strives.
On this night, her beauty knows no pride.
My blond beauty cries in my arms in fright.
On this night, she has no room for lies.
On this night, she has no wings to fly.
My blond beauty empties her heart this night.
On this night, despair fills both eyes.
On this night, the bitter winds sigh.
My blond beauty cries in my arms in fright.
On this night, the angels weep on high.
On this night, she waves her world goodbye.
My blond beauty empties her heart this night.
My blond beauty cries in my arms in fright.
Her Word Say to Me, “I Love You”
On this night, her red rose petals die.
My blond beauty cries in my arms in fright.
On this night, for the rebel she cries.
On this night, in her music she hides.
My blond beauty empties her heart this night.
On this night, for the creatures she strives.
On this night, her beauty knows no pride.
My blond beauty cries in my arms in fright.
On this night, she has no room for lies.
On this night, she has no wings to fly.
My blond beauty empties her heart this night.
On this night, despair fills both eyes.
On this night, the bitter winds sigh.
My blond beauty cries in my arms in fright.
On this night, the angels weep on high.
On this night, she waves her world goodbye.
My blond beauty empties her heart this night.
My blond beauty cries in my arms in fright.
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| More inspirational notes from high school English class. |
Her words of compassion fill
my night with wonderful worries,
as they say to me, “I love you.”
They abandon all that she
has fought so hard to retain,
just to say to me, “I love you.”
They spell out the fabric of her gentleness and strength,
vanquishing any thoughts of misery and dank drips,
with a simple, “I love you.”
Her words cascade, cool and clear,
down the folded page of recaptured dreams of fate,
with the words, “I love you.”
Her dazzling blue baby’s find rest in the late evening,
her anxious mind uncoils around my loving touch,
as my words say to her, “I love you, too.”
On the Edge of Heavenmy night with wonderful worries,
as they say to me, “I love you.”
They abandon all that she
has fought so hard to retain,
just to say to me, “I love you.”
They spell out the fabric of her gentleness and strength,
vanquishing any thoughts of misery and dank drips,
with a simple, “I love you.”
Her words cascade, cool and clear,
down the folded page of recaptured dreams of fate,
with the words, “I love you.”
Her dazzling blue baby’s find rest in the late evening,
her anxious mind uncoils around my loving touch,
as my words say to her, “I love you, too.”
Those storm laden clouds are rushing down
and clash with that sun streaked blaze of sky
and form a nothing….and then a nothingness.
I watch those cherubs cry out loud
and met those demons groans,
both merging into a song silent.
Those divine doves toil
with deadly assassin crows
in biting air of hostile tranquility.
I feel that pleasant prairie breeze
collide with scalding typhoons
that reach in and seduce the breath of lifeless souls.
Here, the edge of heaven waits for me,
losing the virtuous on the backs of the wicked,
long waiting to be saved.
and clash with that sun streaked blaze of sky
and form a nothing….and then a nothingness.
I watch those cherubs cry out loud
and met those demons groans,
both merging into a song silent.
Those divine doves toil
with deadly assassin crows
in biting air of hostile tranquility.
I feel that pleasant prairie breeze
collide with scalding typhoons
that reach in and seduce the breath of lifeless souls.
Here, the edge of heaven waits for me,
losing the virtuous on the backs of the wicked,
long waiting to be saved.
When you’re done snapping your fingers, check out:
People should read such articles more often.
ReplyDeletecalivita