Poetry Thursday: The Real Me, If I Could Make a Killing...
Tis Friday now, but being late is nothing new for me and you, and how are you? Great, I hope! I'm at an all time low. That's to be expected when you invite an unruly guest into your house. You wanted him there, and he's sleeping on the sofa, eating all your food, blowing out the breakers (oh wait, that was me and the lightening) and generally just making a mess of everything.
His name is Fiction. And while he's tearing apart things in my mind, crashing my nonfiction side, he's still welcomed in my head, though I have a feeling he's about to outstay that welcome.
I know all about that: I constantly outstay my welcomes, and generally make a mess of everything.
Speaking of me...
I'm supposed to be the real me this week for Poetry Thursday. Not Bogart, or McCourt, or anyone inbetween. But I don't like the real me. I don't think she's very smart. Compulsively honest and open to a loathsome degree. She has a dark side she's numb to. She rhymes. She writes bad poetry...
I wrote this on July 12th while heavily listening to Neutral Milk Hotel's The Aeroplane Over the Sea, watching lots of CNN, and contemplating the sad state of everyone inbetween.
Green Ground
We meet on the field where bombs surround
Shining silver
Breaks the green ground
The people are toppled
The ever shrinking crowd
Of eyes, waiting, watching
Cowering down
We make love on the field where bombs surround
Sole survivors
Man the green ground
The people are sleeping
The now silenced crowd
Of fully clothed corpses
Cowering down
We come on the field where bombs surround
Screaming soldiers
Ignite the green ground
The people are burning
As we sigh soft sounds
Of two lovers dieing
Cowering down
4 comments:
Make sure Fiction takes his shoes off if there's mud on'em, so he doesn't track through everywhere. And I hope he chews with his mouth shut! ;)
Your poem made me sad, but it danced prettily, like a reel, which added to the sorrow of it.
as always -- a nice way to start the day, with a dose of Ashley. Thanks and looking forward to those short stories :) Heidi
You cheated on me with Fiction!?
You... *runs away crying*
Oh I'm back...figured it out.
Love the poem. Very Sad...and I wouldn't have used the word "cowering" as it portrays cows in a bad light. JK!
Davey: Thank you! And you're exactly right...muddy shoes on pretty white carpet.
I'm sorry my poem made you sad.
I'm glad you thought it danced.
I hope you're well!
Stay safe in the storms. :)
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Heidi: Hi!! So nice to hear from you...have you started your blog yet, by the way?? I can't wait to read it! :)
I hope you're doing well. :)
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BH: I didn't cheat...I'm a writer. We're eccentric, and allowed to have as many people in our hearts and heads as we wish, right?
[Crickets chirping]
Ah yes, it's not the nineteen twenties anymore, and I'm not a fabulous, famous writer who's actually been published, and allowed to swing.
I keep forgetting that. ;)
I'm glad you loved the poem.
It is sad.
And I like the word cowering...it's what life is, in a way. We're all just cowering down to the green ground, making love and waiting for bombs to surround.
I hope you're doing well. :)
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Happy Saturday!
Love,
~ Ash
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