30 Poems in 30 Days
April 14
( Prompt: a poem with dialogue, conversation )
“Get out! Get out!” the voice inside my head
Shouts first thing in the morning as I wake.
“Get out while breath still moves and winds still blow!
Despite your fear, you’ve got to make a break!”
“I would, you know, except somehow I haven’t
Taken that first step outside the door. And so
I turn on this machine instead, ignoring
What was easy once, it seems just days ago.
When clouds rolled white and blue on the horizon
And sun shone down in splinters and the rain
Would soak us to the skin and leave us laughing
When we finally found our way inside again.
When boot heels clicked and steps were sharp beneath us
And living stretched before us in a stream
And through man’s puzzle random turnings took us
across the city’s surface in a dream.”
“Get out! Just like before when swinging steps
Kept rhyme with his and strode across the town,
When everything was possible, accessible and yours
When no amount of doubting kept you down,
When earth and heaven too were sweetly tangled
Beneath your feet, and in your very breath,
And the dirt all disappeared and pavement sparkled
and love wrapped all around you like a wreath.”
“Don’t make me look! Don’t make me think of that!
I have birds to feed and watch and plants to water.
I have dust to push around and books to read.
I have piles of things to sort and pack and ponder.
What’s to gain by setting out at this late date?
When there’s no one else and I would walk alone?
When the goal is pale and bland and non-compelling
And I’m living in a time already flown?
When the people at the market look right through me
And the young hold me in obvious disdain
And sometimes even hatred. I’m from history
And history’s been completely thrown away.
The tale of humankind no longer matters
To those who know it all, these roiling young
Who burn so quickly now, their brains in tatters,
Hot to win a world already gone.”
“Get out!” I hear. “Get out!” The call is fading.
“Get out!” it cries. “The day is late and you
Will die here with uncaring plants and birds
And books written by those who’re dying too.
And paths unwalked will hang in mists of ether
Like dreams undreamed and poetry unwrit
And light will fade down to one flick’ring candle
And failing, that will be the end of it.”
“I ducked into this cave while still a youngster
Hiding in my mind from kin, I ran
To love, but that was just another hideout
Basing my existence on a man.
I close my eyes and struggle to remember
how I walked these streets in days long past alone,
with nothing I could see ahead and nothing
two steps behind, when those two steps were done.
What pushed me then? The memories are fragments.
But it seems a desperate drama drove me on.
Darkness up ahead and fire behind me
Running for some reason of my own.
But now I am no longer young or desperate
Nor does the man I love walk by my side
And sifting through the past does not allow me
Anything but shadows to abide.”
“Get out, the voice whispers. “Flowers upon the trees
are fragrant and the petals softly fall
to make the path you’d walk there seem like heaven.
Get out, while you still hear my voice at all.”
“Well yes, but now it seems I’m hungry
And my body hurts from sitting in this chair.
So I’ll go in the kitchen now and rustle
Up something good to eat while I’m in there.”
And then I’ll walk the dog and feed the birds
and try to find that silver thread again,
That voice that I can almost now remember
Scratching softly somewhere in my brain.
It had to do, I think, with faith and freedom.
It had to do with getting out of here.
Something about the splendors of God’s doing
Today, for me, if I let go of fear.
If I stand up and put the past behind me
And take a step, albeit with slower pace
And put myself where my own fate can find me.
A warning spoke, that I should leave this place.
But I have to say, I really don’t remember
Except for one spiked jolt of panic when
I first opened my eyes to greet this morning
Perhaps, tomorrow, I’ll hear it again.
***
April, Poetical 