Hey, Mom! The Explanation.

Here's the permanent dedicated link to my first Hey, Mom! post and the explanation of the feature it contains.

Wednesday, August 31, 2016

Hey, Mom! Talking to My Mother #421 - Birds #1, a poem, Writerly Wednesday




Hey, Mom! Talking to My Mother #421 - Birds #1, a poem, Writerly Wednesday

Hi Mom,

I had been categorizing my weekly poems under "literature," which seems presumptuous. I decided to stop adding that category to these weekly poems, and so now let's see if I remember.

I have five poems in a series called "Birds." I doubt I will transmit them over the next five weeks, but then again, that's mindless and I may need mindless.

And another presumptuous thing: creating a series of poems as if I would publish them in a book where a series would make sense. I had such aspirations. And I don't think I am wrong to have aspirations. I have published a little -- in terms of creative writing -- and I still hope to publish novels before I perish. However, I never truly felt that I was poet, and though I am proud of my poems, I do not think they are great poems. I know one of my readers who will chide me for saying this, but the point is driven home as I re-read Ta-Nehisi Coates' Between the World and Me, as I plan to teach it in class. He writes of how he, too, wrote bad poems in his days as a young man learning to write and think and read. Me, too.

And yet, if I truly felt that my poems were dreadful, I would not "publish" them on the Internet where any random people (along with people I actually know) may find them and read them. I am rather proud of my birds poems. They originated with dreams my girlfriend of the time was having, and in the dreams, I dealt with my feelings about sex, insecurity, feelings of inadequacy, and fears of losing the girl I loved. It seems so trivial now as I love someone else, but at the time, I packed a great deal of angst and energy into these poems, a great deal of ardor.

This first one seems predatory as the bird takes the role of a thief, an intruder picking locks and invading a bedroom. As usual, my poems feature word play, which is true here "halo" becomes part of a verb phrase "in halo with," which I liked a great deal at the time I wrote it. I ignored punctuation by and large and tried for the good ending, which I think I achieved fairly well. I am not so sure of the "drooling light," but I do like the first two lines. They're active and energized, threatening, and the word "eject" is full of hard consonant sounds that contrast to the Fs and Ss of other words but also echo the hardness of "coil" and "lock."

I wonder if you ever read all my poems and stories, Mom. I am not sure if you did...and now, you're a captive audience... :-)

BIRDS #1 

I coil my feathers like springs
and eject them into the lock.

You sit up in the bed
I fan the wings
as light drools in halo
and in beat with
"Some Enchanted Evening"
I tango step toward you
and the featherless bed.

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Reflect and connect.

Have someone give you a kiss, and tell you that I love you.

I miss you so very much, Mom.

Talk to you tomorrow, Mom.

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- Days ago = 423 days ago

- Bloggery committed by chris tower - 1608.31 - 10:10

NOTE on time: When I post late, I had been posting at 7:10 a.m. because Google is on Pacific Time, and so this is really 10:10 EDT. However, it still shows up on the blog in Pacific time. So, I am going to start posting at 10:10 a.m. Pacific time, intending this to be 10:10 Eastern time. I know this only matters to me, and to you, Mom. But I am not going back and changing all the 7:10 a.m. times. But I will run this note for a while. Mom, you know that I am posting at 10:10 a.m. often because this is the time of your death.
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