(no subject)
Jul. 10th, 2006 02:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
readingredheadMy poems for the assignment. The first one is about my field trip, specifically the store called Avalon Visions, and the second one is inspired by something Matt likes to say which Tobias Wolff echoed today when he talked to us.
!@#$%^&*&^%$#@! --- !@#$%^&*&^%$#@!
Unknown
I walk upon streets
which have been walked before,
but something about them sings newly to me.
Two intertwined rings
guard an overlooked door
here on this street by the edge of the sea.
Mystery beckons
my feet through the portal
and I watch with awe as a metal bowl sings
for deft hands alone
in a place that is filled
with crystals and sigils and dragonfly wings.
Some may walk by
and deem evil on sight
a shop which vends magic and isn’t afraid
to believe the unknown
has a place of its own.
Tarot cards, chakra charms, boldly displayed
scare away those
who don’t know what to think
of anything other than what they’ve been taught.
But what I find here
is peace, and respect—
acceptance of everyone’s schools of thought.
Unlike the preacher
who stands at the corner
and says that only his credo is true,
the people inside
are content to believe
that what works for me might not be right for you.
All things must pass,
and finally my feet
take me out to the street, away from the door
of the shop where I’d stood
for a tolerant forever,
feeling belonging as I hadn’t before.
It mattered not
that I didn’t believe
in the power of tarot, or chakra, or myrrh.
As I watched the lady
explain without preaching,
I knew that my world could take lessons from her.
!@#$%^&*&^%$#@! --- !@#$%^&*&^%$#@!
Revision
Produce a pound of shit and you’re sure
to find at least an ounce of good:
something that’s right, a line that’s pure,
It’s somewhere there, I promise you.
But it’s not there in every word;
out of one thousand, if five ring true,
the others aren’t worth your time.
There are things to be said for length,
and compliments to pay to rhyme…
But if you write in a manic fit,
then please, I beg:
CLEAN UP YOUR SHIT!
I walk upon streets
which have been walked before,
but something about them sings newly to me.
Two intertwined rings
guard an overlooked door
here on this street by the edge of the sea.
Mystery beckons
my feet through the portal
and I watch with awe as a metal bowl sings
for deft hands alone
in a place that is filled
with crystals and sigils and dragonfly wings.
Some may walk by
and deem evil on sight
a shop which vends magic and isn’t afraid
to believe the unknown
has a place of its own.
Tarot cards, chakra charms, boldly displayed
scare away those
who don’t know what to think
of anything other than what they’ve been taught.
But what I find here
is peace, and respect—
acceptance of everyone’s schools of thought.
Unlike the preacher
who stands at the corner
and says that only his credo is true,
the people inside
are content to believe
that what works for me might not be right for you.
All things must pass,
and finally my feet
take me out to the street, away from the door
of the shop where I’d stood
for a tolerant forever,
feeling belonging as I hadn’t before.
It mattered not
that I didn’t believe
in the power of tarot, or chakra, or myrrh.
As I watched the lady
explain without preaching,
I knew that my world could take lessons from her.
Produce a pound of shit and you’re sure
to find at least an ounce of good:
something that’s right, a line that’s pure,
It’s somewhere there, I promise you.
But it’s not there in every word;
out of one thousand, if five ring true,
the others aren’t worth your time.
There are things to be said for length,
and compliments to pay to rhyme…
But if you write in a manic fit,
then please, I beg:
CLEAN UP YOUR SHIT!
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(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-11 01:56 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-11 03:55 am (UTC)