Went to the mountains for a few days. Came back with a wet cell phone and sunburn, but a massive ego boost due to almost getting myself up on a slalom ski. Also! Tried to write some semi-idyllic poetry; this poem inspired by a true story, Will Gyauch's poem, "The Bird," and Lucia Micarelli's "The Fish." It's unpolished; all of my poetry feels that way, mostly because I write it, think, "This should be polished," and then look over it multiple times without changing anything. t3h p03m, 4 j00
And I held a dying butterfly.
In the mountains, God followed me
Chi led me time after time
Now here I stand in the mountains
Where it’s beautiful in the day,
Where it’s beautiful through the night,
Where it’s beautiful at dawn,
Where it’s beautiful through eternity.
And I held a dying butterfly.
On the roads there, gravel dust paints the foliage
A gray and timeless color, leaving it
Like a faded, loved panting
Plants never noting the passage of time
Only clicking like a dial on the washing machine
I think this one is at “full bloom.”
My grandparents call this place home
And I am forever jealous of them to have
All the memories they made here.
We overlook what used to be nothing but forest but now
Visitors have come
And I held a dying butterfly.
Visitors bring jet skis from Florida, bringing
Young men and women who think
They’re at a resort while the old
Mountain people grumble on their decks, a bugle call from
Reviving the old muskets.
Grandpa can hardly navigate the convoluted roads
Anymore, but they stand captured in his heart,
A still of an unchanging place of forever.
And I held a dying butterfly.
We visited the lake up there
The lake these old mountain people made from a river
The lake suspended like a drop of water on the
Bottom edge of a leaf,
Its deepest well higher than my city’s roof.
The lake is beautiful
Or would be
If we got up the gumption to actually take
A potato gun to the Floridians.
At least in the morning, though, that lake
Is cool and calm, preparing for the afternoon which
Blazes into beauty, the atmosphere thin enough that
Water boils faster and
Sun burns easier.
We got to the water’s edge and skied
And I held a dying butterfly.
It was limp on the walkway to the pier,
So I knelt down by it to see if it had yet become
A pair of wings
Glorifying God
(Who followed me on the letter chi)
(Because it was my first time driving there)
(And no one else was with me)
And being the only creature to know that
Its past and future are equal in wonder.
It struggled for life
So I put my finger by its head
And I held a dying butterfly.
It put out first one leg,
Touching my skin with a tickle.
Next, another and the proboscis
Feeling what I was; was I safe?
It tapped more than once, uncertain in its weakened state.
Then, all at once, all six legs latched to that finger and
I held it aloft, smiling ten years younger than I was.
It stayed there, afraid, but alive and wondrous
Glorifying life and God.
One antenna was half broken off, so the thing seemed off balance.
But I couldn’t spend my life tending to this butterfly,
So I lifted my hand like a falconer,
Giving it courage to take flight
It hesitated, the wings inverting like an umbrella until I was
Afraid I had pained it.
But then color exploded, and blue and orange on elegant black
Burst back up again, and I gave it time,
And launched it again, and this time
It stumbled, fell, found the air, and flew.
I have to go tomorrow, because work is calling me.
Much as I would like to, I cannot remain in this eternity.
Whether chi will follow me back is yet to be seen.
The mountain roads are still gray, and will be forever.
My grandparents will be there forever.
The lake will be beautiful forever.
The Floridians will be a nuisance forever.
Perfect sunlight graces every landscape in sight
Mountains hold the spirits of thousands
Forging their way through wilderness
To be by themselves with God
Trees shade the elderly from sun
The cool of night dispels the heat of day
Fourth of July parties abound
More than once a year
I keep thinking of things that will be forever
Because this place is temporal
For me.
I like to breathe in the mountain air and feel like
I’m tasting a little bit of the breath of God
I’m tasting a little bit of eternity
I’m tasting a little bit of perfection.
And I held a dying butterfly.
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Carpe Diem Ad Muertum
Sieze the day, to the death. There is no potential that shall be passed by, there is no piece of glory to fall by the wayside, there is no soul to left unsaved by the brilliance of language. As writers, we are gods.
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User Comments: [1] [add]
User Comments: [1] [add]
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This is undoubtedly the most direct out of all the poems by you I've read. I guess that's where the "semi-idyllic" comes in? Well, unless my analytical skills are really, really rusty (a possibility that cannot be ruled out in my summer-inebriated state).
Plants never noting the passage of time
Only clicking like a dial on the washing machine
I think this one is at “full bloom.”
Probably my favourite line(s) in the poem, though I'm still debating over the "washing machine" diction. I can't decide if I like the dissonance it presents with its surroundings words or not (a process very much like choosing colour coordinations--are you going for directly complimentary or supplementary? I find it hard to work with anything in-between, which is what this feels like). But I definitely smiled when I read those lines.
The lake suspended like a drop of water on the
Bottom edge of a leaf
Nice. A simile I've never seen used before. Come to think of it, this poem had more similes than I'm used to seeing from you. I'm guessing that's another part of the idyllic nature of this style.
Next, another and the proboscis
You are such a geek. Doesn't quite add to the flow of the poem, since I'm betting most people will have to read over that word twice, but finding scientific terms in your poetry is rather like finding your signature.
For the overall picture, I'm kind of having a hard time finding balance, because there's too much balance. You write so loftily for a few lines, and then everything turns blunt and concrete. I'm used to reading things that primarily take preference one way, with the other acting as supplementary elements of surprise. Obviously, that doesn't have to be the case in all poems, but I do find it more emotionally provoking that way. Just my opinion though.
Also, there were a few places where the rhythm didn't quite feel right. It might sound weird to talk about rhythm for a free verse poem, but if I had to define it, the difference between free verse poems and just a regular sentence cut up at random places is the rhythm behind those cuts. A few lines were missing that, some due to lack of punctuations or something to put a rest in the tumble of words, and others because the sentences didn't feel like it should have been separated there. I don't know. Maybe it's just me.
BUT, I did enjoy the poem. The repetition about the butterfly was a lovely change of pace contrasting the rest of the descriptions. Probably because of the word "dying" acting as a reminder of something darker than what is being written. And although the butterfly flew away, that one word makes it less of a happily-ever-after, which makes it less cliched. Especially at the end.
And this:
’m tasting a little bit of the breath of God
I’m tasting a little bit of eternity
I’m tasting a little bit of perfection.
was beautiful.
So yeah. Maybe a few rearrangements here and there with some of the words and the placement of that repeating line, but that's all.
Don't know if this was quite as constructive as you'd have liked but, I'm...shutting up now. I FAIL AT BEING PITHY *hides*.
(See, I told you I'd leave you a nice long comment biggrin )