oh, and i finally got my books in the mail, poems by both buddy wakefield and sierra demulder, two slam poets i love, both of whom i've seen live. (i am always afraid to say whom, i never know if i'm using it right...) and i've been re-reading an older book of slam poetry i got at my first slam, the pornography diaries by sean patrick conlon. he's still my favorite slam poet ever, his words have so much truth and depth to them. anyhow, i recommend that you youtube their performances and read their poetry because the whole three of them are fantastic. and they inspired me to write a little poem of my own, so without further ado, here is "amy":
amy,and here is a video of sierra demulder performing my favorite poem of hers, werewolf:
i can only see the outlines of your eyes
hollow blanks where orbs once orbited
you were the sun we revolved around.
you were so full of life, even in death
i could sense your smile like a shadow
blocking rays of sunlight from tanning my back
--a little cooler than the rest of me.
the morticians painted your nails deep blue
i wonder if they knew it was your favorite color,
or a lucky guess. your family was too afraid
to speak in sign language to strangers.
and those hands that said so much,
more than any mouth ever could
will never move on their own again.
arranged so delicately across your heart
that fails to pump blood into this body,
this cage, i am not my cage, you said,
my body is a cage and i am not my cage.
now, i can't see the spots where your
auburn hair no longer covered.
i always told you how jealous i was,
that your hair was so beautiful
in clumsy, fumbling gestures.
your eyes danced as you laughed,
silently, though you always laughed so much.
those eyes that you gave away, that worked
so perfectly even though your voice and ears couldn't.
those eyes outlined by deep, dark blue
like two moons orbiting your mars-red hair
phobos and deimos.
No comments:
Post a Comment