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Poetry
For Christmas, I'm writing my family poems
By Heartmember has saluted, click to view salute photosPremium member Comments: 15032, member since Thu Feb 14, 2002
On Wed Nov 28, 2012 09:49 AM
Edited by Heart (21721) on 2012-11-28 09:51:55

I am broke, so for this Christmas, I decided to take a cheap approach: I'm writing everyone in my family poems, which I'm going to handwrite out all nicely on themed papers and throw in some frames. (Originally, I was hoping for sonnets, but I don't do well with sonnets. The form is too strict. I just feel like my free-form poems are higher quality.)

I'm going to put my drafts here, for you to enjoy and critique as you see fit.

This first is for my father, a computer geek who enjoys Buddhism. As you can probably tell, bits of the sonnet attempt made it in here. This is a first, first, first draft. Fire away.

~~

How difficult it must be for one
as analytical as thee to find
Nirvana amongst binary symbols
0s and 1s criss-crossed with cpaitals
spun with parenthesis and slashes
spelling out senseless nonsense save for those
inducted into your select guild.
Siddharta never saw light drawn from anything
save fire, much less a glowing filament or a big-screen
LCD monitor. Yet still you claim
that what he says holds true; spilling down
thousands of years, a waterfall of wisdom
crashing over rocky centuries to a slowly moving
ripple at your feet. You know, Jesus said,
"It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle
than for a rich man to enter Heaven,"
I wonder
what Gautama would have said about programmers?
How frustrating the cold machine, its endless mind ever-churning;
centuries apart we feel the same cosmic yearning.
Siddharta accepts us all, the artists and the teachers,
we all will find the peace we seek, for all our quirky features.

~~~

yeah, I know, dat last line. Too corny?

5 Replies to For Christmas, I'm writing my family poems

re: For Christmas, I'm writing my family poems
By Heartmember has saluted, click to view salute photosPremium member Comments: 15032, member since Thu Feb 14, 2002
On Tue Dec 04, 2012 06:44 PM
hmm, I went digging in my journals, and here's a poem from May 2005. Reworkable, maybe?

~~


I tell a tale of a young goddess
with a kind soul as lovely as the summer sea.
She had long hair the color of sunshine
and made anyone laugh easily.


Her cheeks were freckled, her eyes alight,
her robes as brilliant as her mind.
Once upon a time, if you searched for this girl,
you would her in a garden find.


There was a young goddess with a garden,
in it she grew beautiful flowers.
Many people came to see her from far away
and would lecture her for hours.


“You are young,” said the Gods of High, “You do not know
“The best way to keep a garden.
“Listen to us, follow our directions closely,
“and you shall be the best warden.”


Eager to please, the girl listened
and followed their instructions.
But so many people came and spoke,
that soon she grew dizzy with confusion.


Some said one, some said the opposite,
and there was just too much to do.
What was once a wild and beautiful haven
withered under the goddess' firm rule.


So tired was the girl, so many the visitors,
trampled and dying was all the garden,
that the goddess closed down the paradise and locked the gates-
the people could no longer get in.


Her love was a garden, and the walls were low,
and everyone killed what was inside them.


Her love was a garden, and the walls were high,
and nobody knew how to climb them.

She chilled her sweet summer sea to an arctic ocean
and blew kisses into the wind.
And everyone who knew her shook their heads
and wondered at what might have been.

Her freckled cheek turned pale, as though
the sweetness had been leeched from it.

Her skin was smooth and to the bone
it was as smooth as butter.

She traded her brilliant summer knits
of strawberry, pineapple and pear,
to soft silks of crystalline colors
cool to the touch, and caused men to stare.

It grew cold in the garden, clouds shadowed the sun,
into the pond and in the wind leaves blew.
She ran up a grassy hill, and in the dirt
circles she drew and drew.

Circles wide and circles small,
circles sideways and concentric.
Circles through which her mind tumbled,
circles she was bound in.

Like circles that form in disturbed water,
the rings in her mind showed she was touched.
So distracted was the goddess, she did not see
that on the horizon, something hunched.


A storm cloud, a thunderhead, my God, a tornado!
towards the high-walled garden quickly came.
The goddess picked up her skirts and ran
towards faraway shelter in vain.


Down the walls came a-tumbling,
round and round the winds flew.
The goddess stumbled as she was running,
and into a pond she fell.


A lapis lazuli lilypad were her skirts;
frantically she swam towards shore.
Yet the water weighed her down and down;
the winds spun and spun some more.


Like wine, like hail, like hell, like the ocean
the water pulled and pulled her down.
Oblivious, the tornado spun on,
searching for pleasures for its greedy mouth.


For the winds, outside the garden
had always wondered at what it contained;
so in love were they with what they thought was there
that upon it they decided to raid.


Only when it was night, when it was too late
when the jeweled goddess was lost below the water;
did the winds stop their fanatic search,
and the flowers glared at them with hate.


“What have we done?” they moaned and cried.
“But we did not understand.
“Why a beautiful woman would lock herself up
“among such a beautiful land?”


The flowers bobbed their heads silently.
The pond shivered, but did not speak.
The wall-less garden shimmered in silence;
its beauty brought no joy.



For the answer to the mystery
the winds searched
in circles.
re: For Christmas, I'm writing my family poems
By SiyoNqobamember has saluted, click to view salute photosPremium member Comments: 7113, member since Fri Aug 02, 2002
On Thu Dec 06, 2012 12:55 AM
Wow, what an awesome idea.

I love, love, love the second one you shared.

I love the first one, too. I don't think the last line is too corny, and besides, a think a tiny bit of corny-ness is good at Christmas.
re: For Christmas, I'm writing my family poems
By panicmember has saluted, click to view salute photosPremium member Comments: 11592, member since Thu Dec 16, 2004
On Thu Dec 06, 2012 08:41 AM
I'm not sure it's an awesome idea. If your family are the kind of people who keep framed poems around the house, then sure - it's an awesome idea. Otherwise, not so much. Especially since you're digging up material you wrote 7 years ago and slapping it in a cheap frame you got on clearance at work. Instead of framing it and thereby passive-aggressively demanding everyone in your family display your artwork, maybe you could just glue some macaroni to the paper, and let them tape it to the fridge.
re: For Christmas, I'm writing my family poems (karma: 1)
By d4jmember has saluted, click to view salute photosPremium member Comments: 12490, member since Fri Aug 27, 2004
On Thu Dec 06, 2012 10:24 AM
In case you look into other ways to give your poems, you might consider writing them in blank journals to give. They are not expensive and then the receiver doesn't have to display it on a wall and they also get to write in it themselves. I would keep a journal that had a loved one's writing in it.

You could even start a tradition where you write something, then the receiver writes something and sends the book back to you and you can continue to go back and forth over the years.
re: For Christmas, I'm writing my family poems
By Heartmember has saluted, click to view salute photosPremium member Comments: 15032, member since Thu Feb 14, 2002
On Sat Dec 15, 2012 12:26 PM
Edited by Heart (21721) on 2012-12-15 12:30:58
^ My mom & I have done this a few times, but she's no good at writing back! :P

I won't care if they hang the poems up or not. My mom especially is a big fan of my writing and I know she loves my poems. I'm very picky about giving presents and I won't give something to someone unless I'm sure they'll like it.

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