A Collection of Poems

My program touches on all sorts of creative writing: genre fiction, screenplays, interactive media, even writing for graphic novels. The only thing missing is poetry.

I loved reading and writing poetry in undergrad - in fact, I was the Publicist and then President of Grove City's own poetry club. There were opportunities to get published in the campus's literary magazines, there were occasional artists who would ask to use a poem in their pieces, and there were open mic nights. And while I haven't written much poetry since I graduated, last night I had the opportunity once again to read my work to an audience.

Scene: University Campus. Open Mic Night. 18:00 (fully dark). Wine & snacks available.

The first poem I read is one of my favorites. Titled, "It Always Rains Tomorrow", it's written about a family camp my family goes to every year in Michigan. It's about the last night of camp, when Will is playing taps on his trumpet out on the dock. The title is a reference to the fact that it somehow always seems to rain on the day we have to leave camp. Every year, without fail. It can also be read as a Biblical Creation allegory, as the last night in the Garden of Eden before the Fall, which I did not intend but will absolutely take full credit for.

It Always Rains Tomorrow

Beyond ice-cold waves

and beneath starry heavens,

a smooth trumpet tune

glides on a summer wind,

filling our forest clearing

with a counterpoint lullaby.

Day is done, and the sun

has hidden itself away.

You and I spin through space

with sand between our toes

and a wall of trees

keeping reality at bay.

God created, and it was good -

until He saw the loneliness of man.

So I hold on to wharf-side laughter

and our twilight trumpeter,

knowing this little lakeside universe

is filled with beating hearts.

And on this last night in Eden,

my pulse marks a time signature

followed steadily by the trumpet,

the wind,

and the sigh of the sleeping earth.

___________________________

This next poem is, for all intents and purposes, a love poem. I wrote it many, many moons ago in an attempt to capture an image with my words. The only reference to understand is to Robert Frost's poem "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening". In his last stanza, he writes, "The woods are lovely, dark, and deep..." - and I have stolen that line.

Portrait of You

When I picture your face,

I see it in the atrium of the British Museum,

in the room where they keep all the statues:

your eyes the smooth hues of marble,

your cheeks the sharp edges of stone,

your smile the sunbeams that pass through diamond.

As long as I live, I will see it -

in every rock,

every tree,

every star,

until the whole world sleeps in the shadow of your likeness.

When I picture your eyes,

I see them from Robert Frost's house -

he stares into the woods

while I stare at you,

and we both speak:

"Lovely, dark, deep."

When I picture your heart, I see glass;

tucked away in the velvet cavity

behind your sternum.

You keep it secret,

you keep it safe,

until you can give it away.

I want to tell you my hands are soft.

____________________________

"Ode to Prometheus" is not made up of my words. The sentences and phrases in this poem come from Beethoven's Immortal Beloved letters. After Beethoven's death, his suicide note was found along with these letters. There is no name to which they are addressed - simply the phrase "Immortal Beloved". I pulled in the reference to Prometheus, the Greek titan who gave humans the gift of fire and spent the rest of time chained to a rock as punishment, because some historians speculate that Beethoven had what is known as Prometheus Complex. This is essentially the belief that what you have to give the world is so important that you must sacrifice everything else in order to give it. For Prometheus, it was fire. For Beethoven, it was music. His letters reflect his wish that he wasn't burdened with his musical gift so he wouldn't have to dedicate his whole life to it. I rearranged his words to create this poem.

Ode to Prometheus

Forever thine:

I can only live

either wholly with you

or not at all.

Love demands everything

and completely with good reason.

Never can another own my heart.

Never - never!

Oh, wherever I am

you are with me.

Forever mine:

pursued by the goodness of mankind

here or there -

the goodness that I wish to deserve

as little as I deserve it.

Oh God!

Why do I have to separate

from someone whom I love

so much?

Why this deep grief

where necessity speaks

can our love exist by sacrifices.

If our hearts were always close together

I would have no such thoughts.

Forever us:

can you change it?

That you are not completely mine,

that I am not completely yours?

Oh, go with me,

go with me.

My thoughts turn towards you:

my angel,

my everything,

my very self,

My Immortal Beloved.

_________________

This last poem is one I have written and rewritten several times. Originally, I wrote it in the middle of my sophomore year of college, when my anxiety and insomnia made my hands shake all the time. It's another of my favorite poems I've ever written, and I saved it for last for a strong finish.

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There are earthquakes in my hands

and fault lines in my fingertips;

an infectious tremor

transferred by my touch,

so everything I hold trembles, too.

So forgive me for not holding you.

I decided on isolation,

but thought of it as quarantine -

as though just by being close to me

you could catch your death.

And that's what it would be:

death by debilitating fear -

the slowest of demises.

It eats away from the inside,

chewing through my circuit board

and disconnecting wires.

And as we all know,

there is no such thing as a

'not-quite-functioning' machine -

only a broken one.

_______________

Book recommendation: Bucolics by Maurice Manning. This is a book of poems I read in college, and my favorite book of poems I've read so far. The poems are freeform and address God, who Manning calls "Boss", and it has a childlike quality. Each poem has a different tone: some angry, some in awe, some doubtful, some excited.