Poetry Forum

how do you do it

just like you, baby, just like you.

Up, there.
Gutted row homes lined side to side,
holes in brick we can see through
to the vacant lot behind.
Inside she crawls over recycled
mattresses edge to edge to find
the one, the soft padded featherbed
that does not belong

here

among exposed springs, mold and cigarette burns.
Crayon stubs from a last day scavenge
mark the waterstained drywall like
cave painting history. She colors in
alley way gemstones of colored glass that fall
through cracks in recycling trucks,
the spectrum of Thursday's produce stand,
rainbows in both oil slick puddles and windshield
cracks in the abandoned Buick.

We stack the bricks with mud for mortar,
walling off our place from the crack head wanderers
thinking this must be a place they can get something.

Something beyond colored glass triangles
embedded deep in the grooves
between brick.

We do not ask where they came from,
we do not question the Belgian fountains
that have appeared in the square,
or the vapor of the sidewalk that still rises
after the night of fires leaving
melted tar, shattered windows.

No one moves when the loud speakers warn
incoming train track two.
We know it is magic,
we know not to doubt,
we are invincible.

Don’t ask me how I do it,
you say.

Lets not question sunrise or springtime,
or the prize at the bottom of the box.
Just shake it, baby,
see what rises to the top.

Damn. This is wonderful - wonderful! That's, that's really all I can think to say.

- a flabbergasted will

thanks flabberghasted Will, for reading and commenting on my poem.

sincerely,
flattered and humble Jennifer

why does the word humble always remind me of the mid 1800's?

Indeed this is great. I never could place what "it" in the title referred to, but I will assume that is a product of my own density, rather than a fault on your part. (Obviously william had no problems with it.)

I know what you mean about the 1800s. Same thing happens to me with modesty and slavery. Perhaps it has something to do with Victorian ideals.

Anyhow, nice to meet you, nice first post, and hopefully there is more to come.

I believe the British actually sum that last sentence of pleasantries up in the word "cheers;" but, I take the long way around, Americans have no convenient "sum it all up word" so we have to say things the long way.

But, yeah, you're from Baltimore, so...you'd understand...

Umm...yeah...I'm still tired and don't know exactly what I'm saying here...

- Caleb

Hello Baltimore Lass,

Very good engaging imagery,

for me it evoked street life, street kids/adults, underprivileged/uneducated, second class citizens, bottom of the social rung just being just grateful to find some detritus tossed out by the well do ( who have moved on ...), not questioning just accepting their lot ... harsh reality indeed

the protagonist tone is consistent however, I would of liked to have seen, through more imagery - their resilience and street smartness and they have done a damn good job of surviving to date


very good first post

Arco

Caleb,
Thank you for taking the time to read and comment on my poem! I don't think the lack of figuring out what "it" is really reflects upon either of us. Well, maybe if the ambiguity is frustrating or annoying, I guess I should consider changing it around. It came out in the process of writing the poem. I will think on this, thanks!

You are very coherant when sleepy. Lucky man!

Jennifer

~

Arco, thanks to you as well for your welcome, and for reading and commenting on my poem.

I have taken into consideration your suggestions and added a bit more to the story, which hopefully adds some imagry and hints about who these people are, what they are about etc.

Thanks again!

Jennifer

I am no longer offended, but sincerly flattered. To be compared to you was a high form of praise, I now realize.

This reminds me of the fields I would see in Brasil where people would dump all sorts of furniture and appliances that were broken. They made the best, (if not the most dangerous), playgrounds.

Last line really made the poem for me:

Lets not question sunrise or springtime,
or the prize at the bottom of the box.
Just shake it, baby,
see what rises to the top.

.tg.

"that does not belong"

Reminds me of those picture things kids get "What does not belong?"

You have a knack for those lines.

Rolled me over.

Lets not question sunrise or springtime,
or the prize at the bottom of the box.
Just shake it, baby,
see what rises to the top.

Yeh really made me smile, the last two lines would be a cracking ending to a song.

Nice one Jen if Er