Guess the title of this post does not leave much mystery. If you don’t feel like being particularly depressed right now, then maybe you should not read these poems. But I’m going to post them anyway and hope someone does read them and resonate with them. After all, poetry is not just expertly-placed pleasant-sounding image-evoking words, but the relationship between the reader/writer and the words on the page. My community college professor taught me that, so how ’bout them apples?!
-but I digress. The image above may have almost nothing to do with these poems, but I want anyone reading this to take a moment to think about all the different types of destruction/destructive forces in the world. The picture above is just one example of destruction, but some types of destruction are far less visible. Keep that in mind. The first poem is getting published in the 2016 edition of the Warren County Community College’s literary magazine, Ars Poetica. I guess the title of this poem doesn’t leave much up to mystery either, does it?
My fingers fit perfectly in the spaces between his.
At night he would wrap his arms around my shoulders,
I’d lay my leg across his waist. He used to whisper,
voice raspy, eyes closed in a half-sleep;
I want to marry you one day.
Those nightly exhalations filled the balloon of my self-worth.
I remember the Christmas I found him tearing money
out of holiday cards pilfered from mailboxes,
littering the empty season’s greetings and wishes
for happiness on the ground like trash.
Every Christmas without my brother is miserable,
I want everyone else to be miserable, too!
My ears were barraged with the sound
of hundreds of balloons popping.
The boy I fell in love with had been destroyed by dirty needles
used as weaponry against his own soul.
Somewhere in the process, his hand began to close.
The hinges of his fingers tightened into a white-knuckled fist.
I wasn’t sure if he was fighting himself or the white dragon,
but it didn’t matter. No room remained for me.
The next poem is one that I just wrote, so it is still in need of editing/improving. I find sometimes that the final drafts of my poems hardly resemble the first drafts or sometimes that one poem splits into two or more, a single line can branch out into an entire poem. I also find that sometimes there is beauty in destruction- the satisfaction of destroying a sphere of dandelion seeds, sending them flying across the yard or the explosive destruction of supernovas in space. Anyway, here’s my second poem about destruction, although it does not share the title of the former. Hope you find some beauty in it as well.
I Told You, Didn’t I?
You imagined row houses ravished by flames,
razed and reduced to ash, you imagined earthquakes,
tectonic plates shifting and the Richter scale reading 5.8
you imagined tsunami waves reaching up
to seize Heaven and bring it crashing down to Earth-
not a small blonde in Vans. You laughed
when I said I was destructive
and I didn’t want to, but I showed you
my subtle brand of destruction. Funny-
you thought it had to be physical,
but I simply vanished and left you
with the space where I had once been
No fire, no earthquake,
no tsunami necessary.