GloPoWriMo

If Gratitude Were Horses, We’d Never Fear a Stampede (#poem #NaPoWriMo)

R. Horton

free-giftToday’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a contemplation on gifts and giving. I read Ralph Waldo Emerson’s essay on gifts when I was in high school, and it has stayed with me all these years. Emerson definitely had his moments as an essayist.

Prologue

“The only gift is a portion of thyself. Thou must bleed for me.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Exposition

The gift is always some sort of recrimination,
At least this is the way I see it.
The gift tells what you think of me,
Or whether, indeed, you think of me.
Upon receipt, I am immediately filled
With guilt, shame, anger, sadness or—
Most likely—unworthiness,
At least for gifts from you.
Others may give gifts that
Only reaffirm my deeply held
Belief that I may not be worth
The second thought required
For a gift, but you are different,
Are you not?

And it should be easier to give than receive,
But what is it like to be too painfully
Aware that a thoughtless gift
Will make someone feel
Unworthy of thought, of value?
Paralyzed by caution, we givers
Fail ourselves and our fellow humans
Regularly. If only we’d had more time,
The gift would have been better.
A gift receipt is included, in case
You don’t like it.

Epilogue

“We do not quite forgive a giver. The hand that feeds us is in some danger of being bitten.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Accepting an Infinite Regression of Causes (#poem #NaPoWriMo)

R. Horton

IMG_6604If only life had come into being
On different terms, according to a different template.

If pain weren’t the primary motivating factor
For keeping life propelling itself forward,

If the best of all possible worlds weren’t
A universe where all life is suffering,

If life required no development,
No yearning for higher goals,

If life were complete, as it is,
With nothing but simple satisfaction
To guide it to its inevitable conclusion,

If only the ultimate spirit,
The source of all energy,
Had held back just a little,

Then I wouldn’t be staring into your eyes
Wondering why you still tolerate my gaze.

On the Odd Quality of Trumpets in the Mist (#poem #NaPoWriMo)

R. Horton

Day 5 of NaPoWriMo is a bit complicated. We’re to write a villanelle that uses a line from another poem and also uses lines with opposing ideas. My first line, which repeats, is from Stephanie Brown’s Schadenfreude. My third line, which also repeats, is in opposition to the first. Anyway, here’s my stab at it.


There should be the sound of trumpets, thin and mournfulIMG_7102
As we emerge in mist and set off on our journey.
We’ll make song, laughter, and love seem normal.

It’s only a walk. We won’t be won’t be beaten and forlorn, so
We can rise up and never be brought to our knees.
There should be the sound of trumpets, thin and mournful.

We won’t be stopped, though we know we’re only mortal.
We’re made of stiff stock and can always foresee
That we’ll make song, laughter, and love seem normal.

Savagery is defeated by being kind and cordial,
But we’re fighting destruction of civil society.
There should be the sound of trumpets, thin and mournful.

The angels among us sing out with joy and hearts so full
Of love that we continue to believe in future with peace.
We’ll make song, laughter, and love seem normal.

The waters rise and smoke chokes our lungs, so
We raise our banners and fists as we march through the country.
There should be the sound of trumpets, thin and mournful.
We’ll make song, laughter, and love seem normal.

 

 

The Distinct Challenges of Hyperfocus (#poem #NaPoWriMo)

R. Horton

Straddling a life between town and country,

I remember you once stood on a snake.

You never saw it as we were shouting,

Until you moved and it slithered away.

Once you walked into a concrete column,

As I told you to hurry and catch up.

But you were focused and a little solemn,

Just searching for green anoles close up.

So many times you fell into a pond,

And I had to pull you out of the mud.

You were just looking to find what’s beyond.

You were happy to risk bruises and blood.

But I wonder now if you see my life.

As only pixels tell me of your strife.

The Unintended Consequences of Complimentary Behavior (#poem #NaPoWriMo)

R. Horton

He made a clumsy compliment,
And it was taken for an insult.
Immediately, he tried to explainScreenshot 2019-04-03 at 08.02.28
The misunderstanding, but
He was told to “stop digging.”

And so it was.
He wasn’t in love, exactly,
But he admired her
Constantly and consistently.
He spoke highly of her to colleagues
And mutual acquaintances.

Hoping to eventually mend the rift,
He overcompensated with kindness,
But she seemed to recede further
In the distance with each step
He tried to take forward.

And small mistakes can have
Grave consequences. They say
The entire universe is a mess
Because Brahma was too drowsy
During the act of creation,
Which is an important lesson
For fertile but untutored lovers.

And as the universe tends to replicate
An original error exponentially,
So relationships can create
Great webs of resentment
And confusion. Even chaos.

It was all right, of course.
He found other jobs and
Other social and vocational
Networks away from her gaze.
He found a wife, passed his
Own genes on to unsuspecting
New persons peering into
Brahma’s mistake for the first time.

After her divorce, she heard of him
And his relative success and wondered
How such a ham-fisted and socially
Awkward dimwit could carry on.

But we do carry on.
Brahma hasn’t had a nap
In eons, and light travels to our
Eyes from the furthest reaches
Of space, just so we can experiment
With clumsy compliments.

God is in the Details (#NaPoWriMo #poem)

R. Horton

Some see God where
Others see only
Pain and suffering.Screenshot 2019-04-02 at 06.41.56

I read in the news
About a lady whose home
Was destroyed by a tornado,
Except for a closet
She happened to be hiding in.
She called it her prayer closet
And praised the Lord
For sparing it.
She said, “My God is
Awesome! Shout somebody!”

I guess if I believed
My God just destroyed
Everything I owned except
For a prayer closet, I might
Wonder why God had forsaken me,
But we don’t all see things
The same way, do we?