4/27/24
Field of Screams: If you write it, they will read it…or not. I began writing poetry thirty-nine years ago in this life. That, I know how to do it. I don’t have a clue how to blog. A friend recently asked me where my ideas come from. The short answer is from anywhere and everywhere. For example, ideas can come from other poets. During a reading at Infusion Tea in Orlando, Brad complained about the moon being overused in poetry. Although he may have had a valid point, he came across as a moon hater. Being a Cancer, I objected of course. I also remembered a fragment of the greatest love poem ever written: “For the moon never beams without bring me dreams of the beautiful Annabel Lee.” Naturally, I tomahawked him:
There once was a mean poet named Brad
Who believed that the moon was quite bad.
As a noun or a verb,
A bad habit to curb.
He is under full moon, rabid mad!
I gave my limerick the title “Werewolf” but that gives away the punch line. I don’t know how often I will post entries and I don’t even have a website yet or any readers. Baby steps. I will finish this entry with a couple of anapestic ballads in perfect meter. The first one is an homage to Annabel Lee and the second poem was published by New York Literary Magazine.
Ryan
Driftwood
From the business and busy of keeping a job,
She had prayed to be finally free.
She imagined her boss as aggressive as shark
From aquarium back into sea.
Although sand was as white as an egg in the snow,
It remained as a desolate key.
She endured the monotonous drive to the beach
As she ogled cerulean sea.
She had called in as sick although healthy that day,
But the price of excuse was a fee.
She would worry about that tomorrow. Today,
She would swim with the dolphins in sea
As her day was as perfect as Florida fun.
She collected a shell from debris.
It was beautiful, purple, and valuable find
From a generous bountiful sea.
It was natural energy Lee had desired.
She was tired without vitamin B,
But an energy drink wasn’t a match for the strength
She would get from the foam of the sea.
She’d delight in the sun as her lethargy left
With emergence of vitamin D.
She derived a renewal of sorts from the air
As she tasted the salt from the sea.
It was easy becoming disgruntled with life.
She didn’t draw from the power of three.
She was stranger to soul like a bird without flight.
There was peace by the side of the sea.
From the busy and business of keeping a job,
She would pray to be finally free.
As a positive answer was found with the tide,
She would drift like the wood in the sea.
A Nightmare within a Nightmare (based on the memoir Girl in the Dark)
As the sun is immediate threat, she must flee.
So her life is a solar eclipse.
She must dwell in a world that evolves into dark,
But she longs for those beautiful trips.
As the sun on her skin is like fire, she does hide
From the light like disconsolate child.
She remembers her happier life in the sun
And the raises at work she compiled.
As the light from her windows is painful as fire,
She must wrap the perimeter closed.
So she lives with her curtains surrounded by foil.
Her disease is a bubble imposed.
She had loved to remain by the bay in the day,
But the rays will ignite to her shin.
Her companion, the moon, is a welcoming sight
For the goddess who searches for twin.
As the absence of light is the balm for disease,
Her condition improves by the week.
But the light will escape like a snake through a crack,
So she hides with the skill of the meek.
In the darkness, her dizziness lurks like a drunk
Who is shamed by the pity of looks.
As the solace of sound is a balm for her soul,
She secures the recordings of books.
As her anger encircles her soul like a fire,
She remains at the mercy of God.
So she carries a pill that erases her life,
And her soul is at peace which is odd.
As the light is a prison, she flees to the night,
And the orb is a friend in the sky.
As the mystical owl in the tree is her guide,
She remembers this world is a lie!
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