War *First Draft*

War

War is not of guns and bombs

Nor the flesh of men

Was is a battle of souls

Souls of soldiers sold

Security in shooting civilians

who seemed like Taliban

suspicious like Taliban

But the evil lies not in the truth

truth being bood, fear, hate and death

Evil will always lay in the lie

 

Young starry eyes boys and girls

in super hero costumes

armed with gadgets against everything but

the human heart

told to spread their love for their homeland

offering freedom to those who don’t want it

paying blood money to those who’d buy blades

to stab us on the spot

 

The evil is the enemy within

groomed and well mannered in his suit

articulate, smart, rich

Real evil never even touches the battlefield

It wanted something it shouldn’t have

and paid to arm boys and girls

with gadgets and super hero costumes

like dolls

 

Everyone loses

The dolls break

Evil Profits

and smiles at us from its pretty white house.

 

 

 

*Well that was grim, but if you watch any REAL documentary on the war in Afghanistan you’ll see what an evil hopeless waste the whole movement is.  I want to make this poem, I feel I can go farther and deeper still.*

Rant 1: A little bit of Politics

Hello everyone, it’s been a while.

I think it’s time I vented a bit on my view of current politics, specifically on gun control.

The problem with politics today is that fear is a primary tool in most politician’s argument. Fear is how we got into this ridiculous war, and fear is how Democrats are getting some steam in their attempts to pass asinine laws on gun control. The funny thing is that there are some good ideas in the mix that are being passed for THE WRONG REASONS.

Background checks on people who buy guns so that the mentally unstable and people with criminal records can’t do so? Great.

Though I believe that in the most infamous of the recent shootings, the one at the school, the shooter had stolen his mother’s gun which she had perfectly legal rights to have.

The issue is about how inefficiently this country deals with mentally ill people, but making it an issue about guns is a lot simpler and easier for politicians.

The whole idea of banning the sale of a specific assault brand of gun is also quite stupid. If not an assault rifle then there are shotguns, and if not shotguns there will still be pistols, etc. etc. etc.

Again, this is a people problem, not a gun problem.

What’s the real solution? I have no idea. The means to better help mentally unstable people get the help they need is a complicated matter that I do not have the knowledge to address, but it’s a discussion that should be happening nationally.

Anyways, I’m a Republican at heart that votes Democrat. What do I mean by this? Well I hated both Romney and Obama. I was more of a Ron Paul guy if it wasn’t for the fact that Ron Paul is racist (look it up, it’s subtle.) I find Democrats to be weak and that they cow tail to fear, to the impoverished, to big government and big government handouts.

Republican doctrine at its core is correct but the fact is that 90+% of republicans in the senate are insane chauvinistic lunatic fanatics with evil agendas. Ok, perhaps I am stretching it a tad but they are absolutely ignorant on common American values and constantly fear monger to sway the ignorant undecided voters.

Public health care is ridiculous. Why should we have to pay for the medical care of people we don’t know, specifically people who got themselves into their unhealthy situation and should live with it out of their own wallet. The morbidly obese, the drunks, the drug addicts, etc. should not be taken care of by the tax dollars of every American. It’s a HUGE detriment to our economy. Of course everyone goes, oh but our elderly need us! Well frankly, that’s what family is for and the old are sort of meant to die. It’s kind of the point of aging. Oh but Adam, you’re an insensitive youth who doesn’t understand what it’s like to be old. No, well yes. But even so I am the kind of person who takes RESPONSIBILITY for my life. No matter how bad my situation I would never expect nor even wish that the public would pay for my well being. Honestly I think a large population of the elderly feel the same way. Do you really think elderly want to suck up tax dollars?

My grandparents think it’s ridiculous. Our country has to get out of the war mentality, out of making decisions based on fear, and stop asking for handouts.

Romney may have gaffed when he said 47% of Americans are takers, but I don’t think he’s as far off as you want to believe. Many many Americans abuse the system. Stop blaming the government and take personal responsibility for your life. It’s the only way up.

I ask (first draft)

I ask
“who am I?”
And receive no answer

I look for myself in your reflective eyes
Yet I’m not there
In your heart or mind
But not where I need to be

Drip drops speckle my face
Sweat, tears, rain
To a stranger it all looks the same,
Only I know which

Nobody asks,
“Who am I”
And realizes nothing.

*I like this poem I’ve written, particularly the last stanza if you see the double meaning. I want to polish up the middle and maybe the beginning. I like circular poetry but I might want to make the connection in the beginning to the end a bit more subtle.*

New untitled poem (first draft)

Nothing to write

fingers filled with spite

trembling and loud

 

The dog gives a sigh

I look in her eyes

“ah, how much easier it would be”

 

The beating slows

My heart, unwinding, knows

as the acid drains

 

This could be for the best

lay my soul down to rest

maybe I am insane

 

Can a Child know right from wrong?

A child still? Or have I grown old and long?

I don’t recognize this decade

 

Maybe you would sympathize

if you felt tears rolling down the inside of your lungs

if you felt a wish reverberate against fate

if you felt charcoal crumbs crushed under your thumb

But if you did, you’d be me

and what’d be left for me to be?

*first draft, work in progress, please feel free to leave comments and thoughts. There are a few things I’m not sure I like in this poem but I’ll mention them in my second draft if I change them.*

Oh, before I forget, My name is Adam.

My name is Adam and I’m a poet

Though if you met me you may never know it. (and the rhyming ends there for this post)

I’m majoring in Comp-sci and Psychology but those are just things I’m doing to get by after school.

If anything I’d love to live just as a poet, but sadly there is no money in the arts anymore unless you somehow get selected to be in the bubble of famous eccentric art people.

 

I’m a Scorpio, if you believe in such things. (I don’t but I am a textbook Scorpio and it does seem to be eerily accurate when it comes to my personal relationships)

I’m rather laid back yet opinionated. I am a person of dichotomies. I received the artistic soul of my mom and my father’s engineering brain.

Trust me the list of almost opposites goes on.

 

I believe one can write a poem about anything, but the issue is how to do it well. I don’t write poetry to write poetry, I wrote poetry to try to evoke a feeling or moment I experienced onto paper. I actually don’t believe that poems should just be “up for interpretation.” I think that when reading a poem one should try to understand what the author was trying to say or feel what they were trying to lead you to feel. That’s just my belief. Of course that doesn’t mean I criticize interpretations of my work, if anything if people are picking up on something that I did not intend then it means I didn’t write my poem properly.

 

I’m 21, and it’s not as exciting as I thought it’d be. I’m secure, self-confidant, and truly understand what it means to “love oneself.” Sadly it seems most of my peers have a ways to go, but with all the divorce and crappy media out there who can blame them?

Let me add that while recently I’ve been stretching my poetic roots and experimenting, I started writing poetry about small beautiful overlooked moments. Like the light fragmenting through my textured bathroom glass window while I have a 104 fever. Or a single blade of grass that stands out to me among all the rest, thus giving it significance. Things like that. I’ve been told that I see things at their core rather well and thus my father’s been pushing me to write on “themes” or “specific topics” like my gen x poem. He just said, “you should write a poem about your generation.” So I spent about a week having it fumbling around with the idea for a bit to no avail. Then bang, the poem just came to me on the walk home one night. It took me about 6 minutes to write, but I thought about it for an hour beforehand. Then it took me a full 3 days to fix it up to it’s final state.

Let me be specific: It took me 3 days to alter just about 3 phrases that I wasn’t happy with. This is why I dislike editing. Making a good poem I find is easy enough, but making a great poem is exponentially harder.

Feel free to ask me questions about myself, my life, my work or anything. I’m an open book and live each day like it’s my first and last.

The Old Dance (FIRST DRAFT!) My comments at the bottom surrounded by *’s

Grace! Grace!
On this slumberin’ face
We dance past eyelids at a frantic pace
With a Pierrot twirl past a pointed nose
I take a bow, she a ballet pose
Then a saucy Samba over bristled lips
I count my steps as she shakes her hips
As her stilettos begin to cut its skin
I unsheathe my saber to commit mortal sin
With a dash and a slash we slit its throat
A gash wide enough to make a giant croak
With a bloody gurgle this number is done
I wipe off sweat she asks, “now wasn’t this fun?”
For their weight in gold our service is sold
We’ll leap to any target of which we’re told
But be prepared to request it face to face
And stay within our short but good grace
You’ve seen our true and deadly stance
We are the death dancers and this is our dance.

*So, this is my first draft. Let me begin by saying that I don’t like to do poems based on fantasy but I always go with the flow when inspiration hits. The idea behind this poem is that there are 2 mercenaries, a couple of lovers called the Death Dancers who kill people while dancing on their body. This time they were hired to kill a giant. So what are my thoughts insofar?

I’m very very happy with the first 3 lines, as they are what inspired the rest of the poem. They just popped up in my head. I’m somewhat unhappy with the rest of it.

Some lines are a bit too clunky and you lose the rythmic flow that feels like dancing. The struggle for me as the writer is to shave off the unnecessary without altering it in a way that loses meaning. It may be a good while before I revise this, as I have much more fun writing new poems then fixing up old ones, but I will keep updating this over time and explain my thought process on the changes made. Please feel free to provide input, though I may choose to disregard it.

The previous poem is a FINISHED poem that I am very happy with. It has more than a few layers of meaning in certain phrases and I’m rather proud of it. Everything down to the punctuation, capitalization, and spacing is deliberate.*

Gen X

Blue as fear
Of doubt and destiny
Head cocked
Hesitant eyes on the voluptuous
Hips of addiction

Therein the tragedy lay:
That we will our fate.
Choice, a conscious lie
That leads to
A whispered truth

We must escape,
Escape this rock handed to us
With it’s cheap thrills and pills
Novocain chills
Yet, it’s our potential that kills us

because
We’d rather watch it all burn,
All in a cold blue fire
With our eyes closed
And our hands held outwards
As if to warm ourselves on nothingness

A feigned smile
You don’t understand
“You will never understand”
We are generation X