You know how you often look up
To people who are brave,
And standing all bright and erect?
How you often think if you’d ever
Be like them?
Myriads of youngsters imbibing the
Inspiration you radiate,
Looking up to you.
But do you ever think about
The way they feel?
Do they know what they are,
Do they live up to their fame?
Does a brave hero know she’s brave?
And does she feel any different from you?
Getting up in the morning,
Does she think: Today, I’m gonna
Crash monsters, free peasants
And be crowned a queen by dusk?
Or does she, perhaps, go reluctantly
Out of bed
And straight to coffee
Brooding sullenly on what’s to come
And not feeling like doing it,
For, perhaps, she prefers to
Just lie down with her book
And read about the brave
Instead of acting it?
Still, someone has to save the day,
Eight years ago, during my first November Poem-A-Day Chapbook Challenge, I remember I had to write a “pro-” poem. Then, I wrote “Pro-Pasta“. This time around, it’s not about pasta I poem.
Anti society and its stale values
Anti all the old-fashioned,
Traditional, patriarchal, family-centered
Women-effacing values and rules
And will be
Anti all that goes without explanation
That is taken for granted
For rule of thumb
Without any questioning
Anti because innate!
How hungry I am all the time
Even when I’m not
And it’s not just food.
But when I was you…
I was never really craving food
Still, my appetite was unquenchable
Joy, love, glory, that thing of no name…
Especially that thing –
It hasn’t disappeared and it hasn’t got
A proper name yet.
Although I got much of what I hadn’t craved for,
I still feel the same old hunger
For the nameless thing.
Today’s the first Tuesday in the challenge month, so it’s time for Two for Tuesday!
A Quiet Poem or a Loud Poem
It’s a secret not kept well
That you are loud and fuss like hell
But you won’t be so shocked to know
You’ll get far quieter as you grow.
I think of earthquakes
A fire maybe.
I think of the tears
Cried, the sighs sighed,
The houses and lives
Destroyed or changed so much
That they aren’t nigh as nice
As they’re meant to be –
They don’t bring the pleasure
Or relaxation, or inspiration
That our creator has intended them to bring
You think of love gone sour
Hearts torn in pieces
Bitter tears and the inability to weep
As much as you want for fear of looking mad
To the rest of the world,
The insanity of not yelling loud
All the grief and terror which is inside
But I counter you with
The utter disaster –
Memories gone bleak,
Or changed so much
That they aren’t nigh as true
As they were meant to be.
Am I disclosing too much,
Or just stating the obvious, girl,
When I say that you stink in forgiveness?
Have you noticed that, already
In the special nooks of your fatigue
And your bright days,
You still think that is your darkest hour,
And you’ll remember it for the utter loneliness and emptiness
Contrasting with the noise and chaotic fragments
On the go inside your head
You cried and dried your eyes in your cuddly toy’s long ears
Long ears that keep lots of tears
And the memory of many sobs
That have heard many a verse
Of romantic poets, symbolists and others
I know you’re burning for what you believe in
I can’t remember all, but it was learning,
Teaching and research, in no particular order
You’ll burn on until you burn out
And even that’s a nice thing to see through
For fire is beautiful to look at
It warms us and helps cook the meals
Whatever field you’re burning in or out,
Honestly, this poem doesn’t hint at anything. I can’t think of anything appropriate, so I’ll leave it as it is. I may not use it in my final chapbook version.
I bet you’re wondering
If you’ll be happy overall
And wanting to know how
Things will turn out.
I often did that, and sometimes
Only now,I’m not that curious
It seems that apathy and age walk hand in hand.
The prompt for today is to use an Occupation or Profession as a title, so I chose one of my own
My favourite occupation,
And your dream – to climb the fandom ladder
Playing what befits you most.
My lovely queen,
Your regular amaze fits, and your frequent
Pas-de-deux in the variety show
Of randomly selected dramatic media,
Goth black, feathers, glee and dreamy eyes,
Still warm my heart with bitterness
Instead of the fans’ loving glitter kisses
On your diary.
© 2018, mk