Dusty

When I write a poem, I feel a thrill that makes my

heart-speed-up

like a herd of kindergarteners out to recess

galloping across the mulch

over to the monkeybars

belly-sliding

screaming

generally giving new meaning

to the phrase “jungle gym.”

 

I begin with a statement, obscure

unassuming and demure

the opposite of my frenzied pulse.

 

Just to coax my reader in

I’ll add a little spin

some clever wordplay

figurative language dancing            across                         the                  page

like ballerinas in the act before the last.

 

It doesn’t always rhyme

but it always has a twist

(usually it does rhyme; I enjoy the lyrical quality).

 

A line might repeat

or maybe a whole stanza

this is free-verse after all

rules don’t matter.

And I’m typing this for me—

rules don’t matter.

 

But wait!

 

One does

the rule that determines my battery life

I left my charger in the car

my phone’s at 21 percent.

 

Maybe I should have used pencil & paper.

 

By this time, my reader

might be getting bored, so I

switch-up-the-pace

likeajockeyinarace

whipping, spurring, shouting, whirring

arms and legs and hooves in poetic harmony

and

then

when

the

race

is

over

 

collapsing.

 

13 percent left

funny thing about iPhones

they always seem to die when you need them most.

 

Is second person allowed in a poem?

(rules don’t matter)

 

I hope the collapsed horse is okay

I hope the ballerina executes the plié

I hope the kindergarteners don’t tackle her

as stories blur together

running like watercolor paints

with the glass tipped over.

 

I think I used too many similes

I hope you can follow this poem.

 

Hope is a fragile lady

she breaks in the slightest breeze

I hope my uncle’s Christmas is better this year

see, he cried so much last time

even the sky sobbed in sympathy.

 

Grandma has my poems on the fridge

all our pictures on the wall

every year she gets a new one

we get older

but one

just one

will never get older

 

Funny thing about people

they always seem to die when you need them most.

This poem is about: 
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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