Matt's Blog

This was easily the most difficult poem for all of us to write. We were to creat an illogical world. I don't think any of us created a world that was illogical enough. At any rate. Here's my attempt.

Someday I'll be big enough

"I can't hold this thing up forever," Dad says,
already losing his grip on the moon,
his fingers digging deeper into the dust,
searching for a hold.

"I almost have it," the boy says.
"There it is." The boy grasps a purple plastic case.
The makeup inside rattles,
causing clouds to gather and a thunderstorm to begin to form,
rumbling around his waist.

"What were you doing with your sister's makeup anyway?" the father asks,
gently putting the moon back in place.
He claps his hands and
wipes them on his pants.
The dust falls, filling in a small lake.

"Someday I'll be big enough to touch the moon."
The boy clutches the box to his chest,
hops on a passing cloud and calls,
"Sissy! I found it."
As he rides the cloud
he smells the rain coming,
the smell of clean and dirty mixed together
makes him grin.

His sister appears tiptoeing
along a ridge of mountains.
Her little feet crush aspen and pine,
and send boulders crashing down the slopes.
She snatches a handful of the broken trees and
pops them into her mouth.
The taste of pine and squirrel,
bluebird and spiders,
and a hundred other natural things
tickle her tongue.

"Sorry I lost it," he says.
His sister stops, grins,
takes the box from her brother,
and playfully knocks him off his cloud.

The sun goes down early in the fall,
burning leaves and cool
Autumn bite in the air.

We sit on the front porch
and one, two, three, not it!
our voices echo down the dark street.

The loser, now a gray wolf
lopes into the wild
behind the house, away from the streetlights.

Hidden, he howls.
His shriek carries through the neighborhood
to the rest of us, three or four kids, hunters.

We scatter
into the wild to find a wolf
before he finds us.

Silent minutes pass
as the the sky darkens.
No wolf.

Finally I approach the old garage,
crouched behind the house,
its gaping mouth open, forbidding,

darkness. I smell the burning leaves
again and reach for a dirty pitchfork
that leans against the wall.

I grip the rough wooden handle,
and peer into the gloom.
Silence. Then creaks

and breathing?
The wind? Or something
much worse.

I inch into the unknown,
fork extended to fend of
friend, foe,

whatever evil
might come at me
from the dark.

I guess my poetry has inspired others to try their hand. Here's one from my mom.
---------

I run
The sweat slides down my face into my eyes
My mouth is dry
My heart tears at my chest
My lungs feel as if they will burst
My leg muscles cramp
I pull with my arms
Yes!
I have safely crossed the street again.
I am old you know.

Will and his friend (and Maly and I) put this together the other day.

Click

I look up from my work.
I've been crossing out lines
and writing new ones
and kind of forgot where I was -
on my stool - perched above
a classroom half-full of
high school students.

Some sit near one another,
others alone. Their heads down,
pens and pencils move across paper.
Hands on faces - cheek, chin, forehead.
One chews a fingernail.
If you can hear thinking,
it sounds like this.

This isn't how it starts.
It starts always with questions,
questions I think I just answered.
"Sooooo . . . What are we supposed to be doing?"
A little chatting as I scan the room,
quietly reminding my students
why we're here.

Then, like little girls at a slumber party,
they begin to drop off.
The sea of blue, black and
gray hoodies scribble silently.
scratch.
click.
tap.

ideas.
writing.
life.

Plain View #94 - Oct 7, 2008

Homecoming

Will

Braces

In Bruges

Son of Rambow

Soul Graffiti

Homebrewed Christianity

Blood Rant

Election

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Plain View #93 - Sept 12, 2008

Day after the 11th

Guitar Hero

Big Lebowski

Same Time Next Year

Keen Eddie

NBC

Lady doctor

4-H - it's still a thing

Kid stories

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When I have time to share my poems with my students, they are generally supportive, almost always polite. But sometimes they give me a look that says, "The hell?" I laughed out loud after reading this one to them. The looks on their faces were priceless.

----------

Terrified

As you walk through the
black and white jungle
you are confident.
Spear in hand,
animal skins tied around your waist
reveal your muscled legs, chest and arms.
As the camera pans up to your head
the audience is surprised by a wooden mask --
terrifying
long teeth, wide eyes, flared nose.

You walk through the familiarity and comfort of
your jungle.
Birds and monkeys squawk.
But you are at ease, at home.
The beating drums soothe you.
As you move, you slow,
the drums crescendo and
suddenly stop
as do the jungle creatures.
You slowly turn and the camera follows your gaze.

You see an animal new to you in your jungle.
It's grayness blends with the grayness of its surroundings.
Two large eyes seem to
stare right through you.
You freeze
waiting for the beast to make the first move.
It doesn't.
It's smooth hide shines in the morning sun.
You side step.
Perhaps it doesn't see you.

You will sneak around and
kill it from behind.
The wind blows,
you smell it now.
Its hot dirty acrid scent burns your nose.
It sits low to the ground.
As you creep forward
the beast is still,
it's strange tail held stiff and off center.
Closer, closer.

With a snarl you leap
spear-first at its flank.
Ting! Ting! Ting!
Your spear tip pokes at the jeep's back fender.
The audience laughs as the camera moves in close.
I see your eyes behind your mask.
Terrified.
I laugh too as my heels
push my mask a bit further
under my seat.