Featuring poems by poets from across the global community each day throughout National Poetry Month.
Tuesday, April 10
Sal Marici: Documented in Vinyl
the last chord of “Long Tall Sally”
on 29 August 1966 at Candlestick
they ceased pretending to play music
teenagers’ screams deadened.
During 129 days
in the Abbey Road Studios
strings, brass, woodwinds, sitar
recruitments
of electronic devices:
wah-wah pedal, fuzz box
and a Leslie speaker rotating
low and high frequencies,
trick sound
layered with lyrics
about life’s complexities
our parents did not hear
big bands sing.
April 10th Prompt
Write a poem to your past self. What things would you want to say to yourself? Is there anything you would want to warn yourself about? Any life lessons to give? What perspectives on the world can you offer yourself?
Today's poem comes to us from Sal Marici and is entitled Documented in Vinyl. Sal writes about the poem, "I saw the jacket John Lennon wore for the Sgt. Peppers Lonely Heart Club Band album. The display pumped goose bumps. The Beatles’ creations, especially those from the studio years, replay in my mind like the first time I dropped needles in new, circling grooves. Their impacts echo today."
Monday, April 9
Thomas Jenks: Untitled
I am the great shapeshifter
Shapeshifter of not body
Body, no. Person, yes.
Yes, I am. No, I am not.
Not an echo of me, no you, something different, not me.
Me, who is that?
That is whomever I wake up as.
As oscilating as a pendulum,
A pendulum swaying from one extreme
Extreme to extreme
Extremes never echoing one another, never between.
Between the extremes of a pendulum built,
Built poorly tuned,
Tuned highly sensitive.
Sensitive not to hot and cold, but
But to the hot and cold of humanity.
Humanity, the very thing I am.
Am at all times and none.
None other than I and Me.
Me, the one shapeshifting.
Shapeshifting not into Me, but into Me.
Me, the eternal question.
Question, inquiry, who is Me?
Me is not me then minutes past.
Past me is not me now.
Now me is a different me, a different mood.
Mood, the determinator of me.
Me, a collection of moods, moody.
Moody, they would describe me.
Me, the most frustrating question of all time.
Time and mood, the determiners of me.
Me, crazy, depressed, creative, dull.
Dull to myself, often suicidal.
Suicidal not of Me, but of Me's from all time.
Time, the difference between Me and Me.
Me, always hiding.
Hiding me, trying, afriad.
Afraid to trust, expose my reality.
Reality being always changing.
Changing such that there is no core.
Core poersonality, core drive, no.
No core desires.
Desire to live the same way,
Way, meaning, purpose.
Purpose always changing.
Changing from one me to another.
Another dream, another Me
Me, never the same, no connection
Connection to the past, no echo
Echo of another Me
Me, not another
Another, that is who I was
Was and is
Is and will be.
Be an emotional, hidden, poorly understood mess.
Mess to me, and others, a large mess.
Mess of moods, personalities, me's.
Me's, the many me.
Me, who is Me?
Me knows not who is Me.
Me, the great shapeshifter.
April 9th Prompt
Sunday, April 8
April Jennifer Choi: Life's Love
April 8th Prompt
Saturday, April 7
Mike Bayles: Old Botany
When a foot steps on a wooden floor
another chamber stirs.
I listen to the ways the building speaks
to the many parts of me,
the room where I take Intro to Psychology,
and the hallway where samples of seedlings
in wire cages break ground, as I.
Cubicles cluster around a common area
where subjects offer psyches
for graduate student grades.
On second, a maze winds its way
to teaching assistant offices,
painted in neon colors,
where I ponder trials of life.
Stories linger about third floor,
a place some say is abandoned,
unable to bear the weight of other lives,
unseen and left to wonder.
A step outside shows the aging face
observant of a verdant Central Campus
while I shadow its incarnations.