A Note From My Grandfather

[Skrappybiskit]

"A Note From My Grandfather"

Rivers don't run backwards, much
like small children
or aging drunks.
Water drips down treetrunks.
Silt collects somewhere
downstream.

Wish as you may, evaporation
strips rainwater of
bits of dirt and
sand.

The same water trickles over
the lawn time and time
again. It tastes different
each time.

Sometime, when you are dying,
you'll see the
pattern.

- Skraps

ps: enjoy. My grandfather never actually said this, but he might have

[Skrappybiskit]

Okay, onto another one. I was happy one night, and wrote this little treetise... (pun intended)

"The Tree Poetic"

The rings tell stories, and
if I could interpret, there would
be drought, arrow notches,
flash floods.

The rings tell stories that
span hundreds of years. From the
first to the last Maya, or
a thousand new stars.

The rings tell stories, but so
do I. Let me spin a tale about
furniture.

- Skraps
 

[Josh]

Hey, you do good work, Skraps. I like both of 'em.

[Vlad!]

Does your grandfather usually lap up water from the lawn?

Ha, just kidding. I like the varied line length as a poetic device.

[Skrappybiskit]

Here's another:

"Fall Unfair"

Let the ferris wheel be life and death,
from agonized beginning to
a breathtaking view
of distances.

Let the children be sadists,
popping happiness in pagan frenzy,
too young to understand
brevity.

Let the funhouse be over
in twenty years of finding
wonder in learning
and a curse in
having learned.

Let the mirrors be memory -
distorted reflections and
embarassed moments.

Let you be Persephone,
blamed for summer and winter,
stolen by Hades,
and

Let me be mankind, refusing
to learn from
past lessons.

-Skraps

[xsuchgreatHEIGHTS]

wow, i really enjoyed all of your poems! keeeeeeeep posting!

[Skrappybiskit]

Here's one I just wrote:

"Sight"

If I knew the hands that shaped this
mortal coil, if I could see the
patterns underneath the surface, and if
only there was a sense of
continuity,

I would rest in peace.

If I understood that random moves
in predefined circles, if the backward
rotation of planets defined
a worldview, and if an atom splitting
was God in an A-bomb,

I would rest in peace.

If I could see the angels round
the camp, if the screams of a holy martyr
were my own cries for justice, and
if a pillar of fire flamed on
my doorstep,

I would rest in peace.

I wouldn't repeat the snake-on-pole
mistakes. I'd never doubt the sweetmeats
scattered on the ground. No bits of
gold ground up in my food.

These are the lies I tell myself.

-- Skraps

[enemy anemone]

I really like that one.

[Josh]

I'm truely impressed with your work, Skraps. Keep posting your stuff. It's first-class all the way.

[Skrappybiskit]

"Meaninglessness"

  we stand, skin clammy, spine crawling
   grasping white-knuckled grains of sand
all 75 -
  before us the vista, the expanse
   an infinite universe, with meaning
    with meaning
I swear it has meaning.
  if our knees knock, is it absurd?
   if our chest tightens, if we turn
    away, blinking tears turned red?
I swear it has meaning.
  then we stand, denying by a campfire.
   the trials drag on, guilty, guilty -
    but our hands are warm.
     whos blood is this?
I swear it has meaning.
   I am god, you are god, and my neighbor's
    rottweiler is Spinoza.
     
perhaps the universe looks at us,
  supernova's fierce extinguishment
    black hole's draw, moth- and candle-like
      spectating on this wayward planet.
grasping us with gravitic hands, all 75 billion,
  grains of worthless sand, saying,
    "I swear it has meaning!"

Skraps

[Skrappybiskit]

"The Silent Partner"


Time is an accomplice to the act, in
the business of covering crime. A
silent partner, full of promises
and expectations.

Cruel, sometimes, like a promiscuous
husband. Understanding that there
is a Judas in the fulcrum. Knowing
power in the long arm
of the clock.

Hide the evidence, or reveal it. Capricious.
Will-o-the-whisp tendencies. Child
at play.

Willing or not, time is an overseer
of the act. There are moments of
happy discretion, where a calm minute
smooths over the iniquity, but
there is also the casual
uncovering of a
bone.

Skraps

ps: love the double post poetics comeing out of my ears...

[Josh]

Your stuff is much more... well... poetic than mine, and less angsty, as well. I enjoy it immensely.

[Skrappybiskit]

I started doing this when I was twelve, and I'm not really any good. Yet. There are people at some of the poets message boards that I go to that could knock my socks off. There's this one Jewish dude that makes me look like a baby

Maybe one day I'll have something published or something. Who knows. I might just do it myself... unfortunately poetics don't exactly have a huge audience these days.

Skraps

[beautifulmess]

You deserve an audience because your stuff is great.