Freshman Poem of the Week

You had to wait a bit longer than usual for this one, but I think giving you four two weeks ago should make up for it. Regrettably, this will be the final installment of "Freshman Poem of the Week." Fortunately, I've saved the best for last.


What the Reed Sees

In the woods behind my house
Stands a small, windswept clearing
Where my children go to play.

I played there too, as a child.
Donning a muddy feather headdress
I swung a plastic axe
Until imaginary bullets
Pierced my heart.

On one edge of the clearing
Under the climbing tree
A dirty puddle waited to explode.
Its thin green film and rotten odor
Enticing little boys
To push each other in.

Jason drank it once.
He got to stay home from school
For a whole week.

From the depths of the puddle
Grows a single reed
Tall and alone
It bends in the wind
Bowing nearly in two
Its tip brushing moldy water
In the weight of the gale
Clutching tightly to its place
And holding on.

Freshman Poem of the Week

Evolution of a Poem :: Part 4

For those of you wondering, I do think this final draft is the best of the four. Don't separate the poem from its title!


The Hand Reaches Down

Feet flail, fail to find purchase
Fingers dig in to a rain of rocks and clay
Till shoulders give way
To the unforgiving,
Empty,
Air.

Freshman Poem of the Week

Evolution of a Poem :: Part 3


The Hand Reaches Down

Feet flail, fail to find purchase
Fingers dig in to a rain of rock and clay
Pain explodes in broken hands
Shoulders give way
Too weak to hold
Panic
Empty, unforgiving air
Falling.

Freshman Poem of the Week

Evolution of a Poem :: Part 2


The Hand Reaches Down

Hanging.
Feet flail, fail to find purchase
In the emptiness beneath.
Harder to breathe.

Fingers dig in to the cold, rocky ledge
Sweat and blood mix in slipping palms
Run in torrents down shaking arms
The earth responds in kind
A rain of rock and clay
The taste of fresh blood
Bloodshot eyes made blind
Too weak to hold

The raging waters
The fiery lava
The black abyss below
Hard to refuse

Cliff tops convulse
Shoulders give way
Ligament split from bone
Fresh waves of pain
Too hard to hold

Through the falling debris
A vision
The Hand that reaches down
A Friend planted on solid ground
Too easy to choose

The cliff’s edge shakes, cracks, crumbles
Breaks
Silence
Floating
Pain explodes
Broken hands again find hold
Heart beats and dirt fill my ears
Loud and fast

The Hand remains, just within a lunging grasp
What makes me so afraid to let go
To unclench slipping fingers
And reach
Stretch up for the Hand?

Somehow it’s reasonable
Everything within me would rather cling to death
The risk Life

But the Hand reaches farther down
And when my ledge finally breaks away
When my grip fails
When I panic
Flailing about in the empty, unforgiving air
Falling
Ignoring still the Hand
He pulls me up by the heart.

Freshman Poem of the Week

The Evolution of a Poem :: Part 1

For the next four days your get four sequential drafts of the same poem. It's really interesting to see how much a poem can change. My prof was all about finding the essence of a poem.


The Hand Reaches Down

It’s that classic movie scene.
There I am:
Clinging to the edge of a crumbling cliff
Death:
The raging waters
The fiery lava
The black abyss below
Hope:
The Hand that reaches down
The Friend planted on solid ground

The cliff’s edge shakes, cracks, crumbles,
Breaks
My courage with it
The Hand is there, just within a lunging grasp.

What makes me so afraid to let go—
To unclench my slipping fingers
And reach
Stretch up for the Hand?

Somehow it’s reasonable
Everything within me would rather cling to death
Than risk Life.

But the Hand reaches farther down
And when my cliff finally breaks away
When my grip fails
When I panic
Flailing about at the empty, unforgiving air
Falling
Ignoring still the Hand
He pulls me up by the heart.

Freshman Poem of the Week

This one didn't have a title that I can remember, but reading it now I think I would call it Reunion.

Dirty carpet
Together sitting
Wet hands
In wet hands
Hers with tears
His with sweat
Her story pours
From her eyes
Tears on his shoulder
Dirt from hers
Memories of mud pies
And playing pig
Mom’s scolding words
And loving smile

Freshman Poem of the Week

Four years later, I would probably write this one a bit differently, but I like it. I hope you do to. Props to whoever can guess which line is my favorite.


Prom Queen

The golden hair
of our prom queen’s
broken French twist
batters her made-up face
in a gust of November air.

The black hand surrounded
by the soft pink fabric
of the back of her coat
trembles
from more than the icy wind.

The gray-blue tile
of the Planned Parenthood floor
reflects florescence into her
stormy eyes.

The periwinkle whisper
of a baby boy’s rattle toy
from memories far away
shatters her composure
in a crash of hail.

A tarnished silver tiara
behind dirty glass
in the pawnbroker’s shop
mirrors the passing
of a cloud-studded sky.

Freshman Poem of the Week

Here's the second draft of The Pretense of Captivation. Check out the first draft here.


The Pretense of Captivation [2]

Silent arrow
A deadly philosopher
Pricks his spine
Light washes his face blue
Behind unearthly shadows
Night Angel his captor
Her home twisting tunnels
Of his imagination.
Judge and jury, witnesses
Scattered shards of green
He pants at the kennel gate
The arrow finds its mark

Freshman Poem of the Week

You get another two-parter this week, but I'll make you wait until tomorrow for the second. This time it's just first and second drafts.

Pretense of Captivation

Silent presence of the arrow
The most deadly philosopher
Pricks his spine
Night Angel his captor
Her home twisting tunnels
His imagination
Light washes his face blue
Casts behind unearthly shadows
She drags him on
An enemy’s promises
He sits prisoner
Stares unblinking
Into light ahead
A pretense of captivation

Freshman Poem of the Week

In my poetry file I have a doc named "Winter Morning." In it, I found Sunday. I also have a manuscript doc, which is a compilation of everything I turned in at the end of the class. In the manuscript, but nowhere else, I found Winter Morning. Slightly confused, I decided you get two for one this week. Happy New Year's Eve.


Sunday

The wind snaps at the flag
Rattles the window
Prints left on white lawn
Lead carefully to the mailbox.
He picks up the thrown paper
Peels off cold orange plastic.
Clumsy, numb fingers
News unfurled
Stories scattered like seed
To the morning drifts.
Plastic seeps through angry knuckles



Winter Morning

She snaps at the flag
Rattles the window where he watches her blow
Together they throw open the door.
Careful steps to the mailbox
Leave prints on the white lawn.
She kisses his nose
Giggles when his cheeks blush at her touch.
He picks up the poorly thrown paper
Peeling off cold orange plastic.
He hurries back in to the fire—
She’d rather play fetch.
He chases the tumbling pages
And trips in a fresh drift of powdery snow.
He rolls to his back and lifts his head
Greeting her with a smile.
He forms an angel in the snow

Freshman Poem of the Week

Don't ask. I have no idea.

The Weight of Protest

My head is full of rocks
Smooth and round like marbles
Children play, marbles collide
Thrown outside in the pouring rain
Outside circles drawn in the dirt
A line drawn in the sand
Crossed ten too many times
And knocked down every one
It’s a strike, the bowler’s dream
Angry faces in picket lines
Angry fists wave angry signs
Angry cops bear blazing guns
I’m petrified
Hard as stone
Rocks are in my head

Freshman Poem of the Week

You have to read this one with your best slow, overly-dramatic, poetry-prof voice.

Sitting

Sitting on the couch
With friends
Opened a box of colored pencils
A nickel fell out

Sitting in the lounge
Playing euchre
A dozen orange roses
In a water bottle

Sitting in calc
On Valentine’s Day
Half a cup of cold coffee
Eraser fell in

Freshman Poem of the Week

After poetry slam, I started looking through some of my old stuff. I took a poetry class when I was a freshman. So, I've decided to make Wednesdays "Freshman Poem of the Week" day. A couple of them are decent. Most really aren't that great. The order is completely arbitrary.



Victory

Blue Jay in a birdbath

Birdbath full of blood

Melodies in memory

Memory lost in mud

Now silent kneels the honored knight

Before a gilded throne

What pride is there in victory

When one returns alone?