Parker Writes » poetry (ish)

1/1/09

parker — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 08:18:55 +0000

the spontaneity of the right-hand turn
the alertness not unrelated to a lack of sleep
the shoes left in the car
the cautious yet eager walk down the street and down the slippery ramp
the half-buttoned shirt with rolled-up sleeves

the way the wind was just subtle enough
the way the loose clumps of sand release their tension under my feet
the crispness of the air
the beautiful, clean, intimate fog

the middle-aged couple out taking their first walk of the year
the fisherman whose rod runs parallel to the horizon
the seagulls springing into the air as a young girl runs by

the purple of my hands
the cold metal of my camera
the chill of my damp hair
not numbing
beautifully penetrating and cleansing

the quiet and isolation
the introspection and reflection
the promises and the initiative
the beautiful, clean, intimate fog

Metaphors

parker — Fri, 15 Feb 2008 20:20:13 +0000

warning: emo 16-year-old poetry. not for the feint of heart. may trigger gag reflex.

Then I was alone. Or maybe I had been alone for some time. Maybe I was always alone. I was insufficient. But how should I have known? I put so much into this. Now I understood the poems. The song lyrics. It is like you’ve lost part of yourself. Better to have loved and lost? Why didn’t she just let me in? I should have seen it coming.
Confusion. Pain. The kind where it hurts to stand still. Even sit still. The smiles were fake. Nothing was for sure. No, I don’t want to right now. Yes, I am losing interesting in things I once enjoyed. No, I am not clinically depressed. I don’t want to talk about it. It just wasn’t ready to come out yet.
It was getting harder to hold it in. Some spilled out on a piece of clay. It seems in my frustration I broke my plate in half. It’s a metaphor. That felt good. I made more metaphors. They went over everyone else’s heads. They helped me get my head straight. I could articulate. This was good.
The hole was being filled. Then it was over. No, it’ll never be fully over. But I don’t need the angry music anymore. Smiles dont make me sad anymore. Still alone. But this time it’s a good kind of alone. The old interests return. I’ve gained some new. Like my metaphors. I sit in front of a fresh piece of clay. There aren’t any metaphors inside this one. No more overflowing liquid to pour out. Not even a drop to squeeze out. I guess I should be happy. At least smiles don’t make me sad anymore. Better to have loved and lost?

Facts

parker — Mon, 24 Sep 2007 01:21:07 +0000

in no particular order:
I held her hand
Mom and Cotter were also in the room
There were people just outside the door talking
When we arrived, a catholic priest was just walking out of the room,
He said that his cellphone had rung while he was anointing her,
And that he thought it was probably my dad
My mom talked to her first, holding her hand
The monitor behind her had numbers in the 90’s
There were 3 blue box-type things with tubes coming out
Also an external pump for circulation
She asked about my shirt
I explained that I had personalized it
My mom explained that I was covering up its dirtiness
She said it was creative
She told my brother that she wished he would help end all the violence in the world
He had been talking about horror movies
Her mouth was dry
So a nurse went to go get her some water
We saw that nurse on our way out, she said the water was coming
She said “it’s in God’s hands now”
That was towards the beginning
I didn’t really say much
But I smiled a lot
She asked us to pray for her
She said that it didn’t matter what type of prayer it was
I said “of course”
My mom said that she went to services, and so did her mom
I thought about going to services to say the Kaddish, if need be
That’s a heavy thought
I told her how Skyler thought “elevators” ought to be renamed as “upevators”
‘Cus they go up
She laughed
It was noticeably difficult for her to speak
Her voice was raspy by the end
I didn’t say much
Cotter said less
My mom said some
She said most of the stuff
I wanted to say “stay strong”
That’s what I said to runners at the cross-country race
She wanted to show Skyler the little light on the end of her finger
It was hard for her to lift her neck, but she did it a couple times
She said she didn’t like diets
She said she had a hard decision ahead of her
She said she would have liked a few more years
She said she would have liked to see our futures a bit more

I think it’s the kind of thing that is exempt from judgement, from opinion. These are just facts.