Jester's Westfield Community Voices 3/27/06
Here are some poems I read tonight and some I wrote tonight. I was particularly inspired at tonight's reading.
Ode to a Bee that Was
To be a bee or not a bee
that was the unfortunate question.
Whether 'tis nobler to suffer the stings and swellings
of a day's misfortune
Or in a rush of adrenaline and heavy step
end the threat. To step, to kill --
and by a step to say we end
the ache and several natural stings
that flesh is heir to. 'Tis certainly
to be wish'd. To slap, to smack;
To step, perchance to kill. Ay, there's the sting;
For in that step of death what pains would come
to our bare foot -- must give us pause.
Who would bandage bear?
Thus the yellow hue of this threat
does make cowards of us all;
And thus intentions to swat the torment --
with this regard, our faces turn away
And lose the name of action.
ltv
[untitled]
poets write
about the sound
of snowflakes
hitting and clinging
to one another
until finally
reaching the ground
poets write
about the color
of laughter
and the taste
of pain
which to some
is like chicken
but not as rubbery
ltv
Here are two I wrote (shamelessly) during other people's readings. (Hey I can multi-task. I can listen and write at the same time.)
Cleopatra Jones
Loneliness doesn't exist
if she's never alone
she jumps
from man to man
using a safety
of fishnets
and birth control
because even though
she cannot face herself
without the constant din
of masculine groans
she knows
it would be worse
trying to hide herself
from someone
who needed her
as much as she
needed them.
ltv
Fireman Poet
He read a poem
about 9/11
the only date
that mattered
for those in his profession
he didn't sugar coat
the bodies that were
already covered in ash
he spoke about the noises
of bodies failing to fly
his voice belied
the strength of character
needed to pull fragments
of his brothers
from the rubble
and piece together
a fitting memorial
ltv
Ode to a Bee that Was
To be a bee or not a bee
that was the unfortunate question.
Whether 'tis nobler to suffer the stings and swellings
of a day's misfortune
Or in a rush of adrenaline and heavy step
end the threat. To step, to kill --
and by a step to say we end
the ache and several natural stings
that flesh is heir to. 'Tis certainly
to be wish'd. To slap, to smack;
To step, perchance to kill. Ay, there's the sting;
For in that step of death what pains would come
to our bare foot -- must give us pause.
Who would bandage bear?
Thus the yellow hue of this threat
does make cowards of us all;
And thus intentions to swat the torment --
with this regard, our faces turn away
And lose the name of action.
ltv
[untitled]
poets write
about the sound
of snowflakes
hitting and clinging
to one another
until finally
reaching the ground
poets write
about the color
of laughter
and the taste
of pain
which to some
is like chicken
but not as rubbery
ltv
Here are two I wrote (shamelessly) during other people's readings. (Hey I can multi-task. I can listen and write at the same time.)
Cleopatra Jones
Loneliness doesn't exist
if she's never alone
she jumps
from man to man
using a safety
of fishnets
and birth control
because even though
she cannot face herself
without the constant din
of masculine groans
she knows
it would be worse
trying to hide herself
from someone
who needed her
as much as she
needed them.
ltv
Fireman Poet
He read a poem
about 9/11
the only date
that mattered
for those in his profession
he didn't sugar coat
the bodies that were
already covered in ash
he spoke about the noises
of bodies failing to fly
his voice belied
the strength of character
needed to pull fragments
of his brothers
from the rubble
and piece together
a fitting memorial
ltv
posted by LTV at
3/27/2006 10:05:00 PM
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