Two Poems for Angsty Traditionalists

It is, of course, national poetry month (everyone obviously knows this as do I thanks to google yesterday), so I thought I’d post some poetry. I started writing poetry when I was fourteen to deal with the emotions of losing our home after Hurricane Floyd and have utilized it to deal with lots of emotionally moving situations that I otherwise like to keep stuffed deep down inside. Most of my poems are pretty terrible, but they do the trick of capturing the feelings of the moment or letting me sort out the craziness swirling around in my head into something that approaches some form of rational sense.

A couple years ago, I looked around the internet to see if there was anything I could do with my poems. I noticed that most of the poetry competitions were dominated by free verse, non-rhyming, and often (to me) nonsensical poems that made my head hurt and left me feeling confused. Traditional rhyming poetry was definitely out. So, in response, I decided to write a very dramatic, old-school rhyming poem about my frustrations with modern poetry and a more modern free-verse version. Because that’s a totally normal way to fill your time. I ended up actually liking the free verse one more than I thought I would, and it’s pretty reflective of my thoughts about the art world when I’m feeling angsty as well. For those few people who might also find these entertaining…

The War

I brought with me the thing I’d wrought,

To those whose preferences had sought

A simpler, more unpolished air,

That which, in my defeat, I’d dare;

In my imaginings I heard

Their scorning of my spoken word,

And with that fear, advice I’d heed

And in between their lines would read:

“You need not waste away with rhyme

The feelings of your mortal time;

But take our way, and with it too

A different, less authentic you;”

I downcast, did take out my pen

Which dripped my blood and put within

A frameless verse my inner war,

That many others like me bore;

If Dickenson and Poe were near,

They to my side would rally here

And lecture on the self to you,

To whom it was taught to be true;

But not for I, or friends alike

Who with our words a chord would strike,

In simpler ears unschooled by those

Who force our lyrics into prose;

And so compelled, I wrote those lines:

An homage to the changing times,

But tell me in all honesty,

How that chained verse has been called free;

I do not wish to win a war,

But only to be called before

A fair tribunal to decide,

If we might live free side by side.

Free

You offer me a drug you say I need—

strait-laced and reasoned isn’t natural. 

In color, you see more clearly, 

and your friends too view kaleidoscopes

I can’t distinguish.

This pill I can’t quite swallow 

you force down in mercy—

dims me, murders every vivid feeling,

leaves me gray and black and blue.

If I could raise the dead you say you worship,

I would live to see my own rebirth

unhindered by this freedom.

I say I’m drowning, you say learning.

“Fly!” you yell, “You’re now untethered!”

Free from your imaginary captors, 

I climb the cage you construct around me.

I long to sing and soar with ancient wings

melted by your sun-blinding light 

you say I need

to escape my darkness.

So some half-hearted Persephone in me

stretches out a hand

to the grip of a loving Hades.