time for a poem, children!
Here's a poem I wrote last semester. I really like it. My friend Ben Cloud says it should be read in a thick Brooklyn accent, but I'm not so sure.
"So Poetry"
So Poetry comes into my room last night
through the window with the moonbeams
hair messy and beautiful
as if she just rode into town
on the back of a borrowed Harley
(same way I first came here)
Poetry perches next to my broken bedside lamp
and flicks my ear till I wake
I’ve been feeling glimpses of her lately
heard someone laugh anyway
when I wrote the piece about the
one night stand with the Australian
and felt hands on my shoulders
when I finally wrote about my abortion
I was so happy
I thought I lost her when I left Vermont
But damn it, I really need sleep right now
Bullshit, she sings
sleep during your yoga class
you always do anyway
Go away, I mumble. I can’t think of anything to write about right now.
Says Poetry,
What about that ruined castle in Scotland
you went to after dark and no one
was around for a million
miles and you were so perfectly
lonely that you thought
of all the things you
would say to another person
if they just happened along
right then.
I wrote about that!
No you didn’t. You recorded it.
I harrumph, and turn my back to Poetry.
I don’t need this shit right now. I got class at nine
and I can never find a damn pen in this room anyway
Fine, says she
Then what about that guy with soft hair
and the kind of neck made to be kissed
the one who smells like your favorite meal
and holds all his tension and passion
beneath his ribs like a hidden treasure?
I seen the way you look at him
shit, girl
I seen the way you dream of him
You never! I shout, facing her again
Poetry just smiles
She knows she has me
I whine
But no one writes about love anymore.
and the smart-ass’s response?
she kisses me deep
tongue velvet white teeth lips wet breath moist warm
Poetry kisses me
and I scramble to find a pen in the dark
copywright 2004 Nicole Cipri
"So Poetry"
So Poetry comes into my room last night
through the window with the moonbeams
hair messy and beautiful
as if she just rode into town
on the back of a borrowed Harley
(same way I first came here)
Poetry perches next to my broken bedside lamp
and flicks my ear till I wake
I’ve been feeling glimpses of her lately
heard someone laugh anyway
when I wrote the piece about the
one night stand with the Australian
and felt hands on my shoulders
when I finally wrote about my abortion
I was so happy
I thought I lost her when I left Vermont
But damn it, I really need sleep right now
Bullshit, she sings
sleep during your yoga class
you always do anyway
Go away, I mumble. I can’t think of anything to write about right now.
Says Poetry,
What about that ruined castle in Scotland
you went to after dark and no one
was around for a million
miles and you were so perfectly
lonely that you thought
of all the things you
would say to another person
if they just happened along
right then.
I wrote about that!
No you didn’t. You recorded it.
I harrumph, and turn my back to Poetry.
I don’t need this shit right now. I got class at nine
and I can never find a damn pen in this room anyway
Fine, says she
Then what about that guy with soft hair
and the kind of neck made to be kissed
the one who smells like your favorite meal
and holds all his tension and passion
beneath his ribs like a hidden treasure?
I seen the way you look at him
shit, girl
I seen the way you dream of him
You never! I shout, facing her again
Poetry just smiles
She knows she has me
I whine
But no one writes about love anymore.
and the smart-ass’s response?
she kisses me deep
tongue velvet white teeth lips wet breath moist warm
Poetry kisses me
and I scramble to find a pen in the dark
copywright 2004 Nicole Cipri