Let it Blow
I pulled out my old poetry notebooks today, and was pleasantly surprised. Either I've lost my eye for good poetry, or I actually did write some half-way decent stuff. You can tell me, eh?
Anyway, this piece is one of my best, I think (written July 02).
She was looking for Jesus in fine clothes,
flowing robe, colorful tunic, and shining hair--
a glowing halo-face would complete her picture.
That's when she met a nice man with shocking eyes
and beard and shabby, worn out shoes.
He was dancing with a faded cap near his feet,
loose change in the bottom, a dollar blowing out
in the breeze from his excited twirling.
She stopped to grab the dollar. He said,
"Let it blow, it will go where it's needed."
So she stood up hesitantly with diverted eyes--
he had stopped swirling, and was loving her
with his eyes, so aflame with the music in his head.
Then the melody rangout from his chest, resonating
within her heart and lungs and spine.
He offered his hands to her as he began to move again.
The dollar flipped into the street, into the wind;
she turned to save it, mumbling, "I don't understand."
Anyway, this piece is one of my best, I think (written July 02).
She was looking for Jesus in fine clothes,
flowing robe, colorful tunic, and shining hair--
a glowing halo-face would complete her picture.
That's when she met a nice man with shocking eyes
and beard and shabby, worn out shoes.
He was dancing with a faded cap near his feet,
loose change in the bottom, a dollar blowing out
in the breeze from his excited twirling.
She stopped to grab the dollar. He said,
"Let it blow, it will go where it's needed."
So she stood up hesitantly with diverted eyes--
he had stopped swirling, and was loving her
with his eyes, so aflame with the music in his head.
Then the melody rangout from his chest, resonating
within her heart and lungs and spine.
He offered his hands to her as he began to move again.
The dollar flipped into the street, into the wind;
she turned to save it, mumbling, "I don't understand."
posted by Unknown @ 9:40 PM
3 Comments:
At 1:45 PM,
Anonymous said…
This is great. I battled with depression for a long time, and although it was hell at the time, I miss it. It sounds retarded, I know. But I miss my writing. I felt like I used to write the best poems at that time. And now, I cna't write. But through reading your poem, it has inspired me to write poetry for good. I guess it doens't always have to be about me, and what I am feeling, but it can be about other things that matter as well. Thanks for the challenge.
At 6:10 PM,
Unknown said…
Glad to be an encouragement in that way. I identify with the "depression stimulates art" mentality. However, I think the main stimulus is rest. Depression forces us to slow down, even stop, because we can't take it anymore. If we'd just practice rest, I think we'd be amazed at the beauty that might flow in and through and out of us.
...ps: I disallowed anonymous posts from now on. It's no fun to interact with "anonymous". cheers.
At 9:57 AM,
Unknown said…
thanks :)
of course, I still don't know if it was Zariel or Ezra.
My beef with anonymous comments is the whole anonymous part of it. The poster knows who I am, and is interacting with me, but I do not know who s/he is, and can only pretend to interact back with them. If I inspired you to write poetry that's really great, but it's so much cooler if I can know who posted that and then check out his/her blog to read that inspired poetry.
see?
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