Poetry

I was poking about the archives I have of old documents in search of an interpretation I did a while back of a song. Though I did not successfully locate this interpretation, I did find a few poetic gems hidden amongst my old schoolwork, which I thought I might share here.

I am, I said 2004-04-07

I am the wind in the sails of a boat
I am the boat itself.
I am the smell of a chicken on the grill
I am the smell of the charcoal.
I am the old canvas walls of the tents in the basement
I am the new nylon ones as well.
I am the Golden Oldies playing on the radios
I am the computer recording them.
I am the Lego towers built in the rooms
I am the robotic brain of the car running 'round them.
I am the backpacks full of homework and projects
I am the pencils sacrificed on the homework.
I am the multi-ethnic blood coursing through my veins
I am Italian, German, Indian, AMERICAN.
I am the electrical experiments in the room
I am the magnetism destroying analog recordings near the experiments.
I am a small house on a street in an annex of a city in which we didn't want to pay taxes
I am the memories of the house and its problems and successes.
I am a family, scattered 'cross the country
I am a family strong, loving despite distance.
I am a Meyer
And you have not heard the half of it," I said.

Spirit 2004-04-09

I, too, sing "America, America," droning a drowsy syncopated tune.
I sing of a city’s sights and sounds, her smells, her crowd, her throbbing force.
I sing of knowing rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.
I sing of flinging my arms wide in some place of the sun, and of whirling and dancing until the oppressive day is done.
I sing of climbing on, reaching landings, and turning corners on life’s squalid stair.
I sing of the merely-human's denial of a spirit, no longer beast, but saint.
I sing of names and mug shots, a drunk's unplanned automotive murder.
I sing of a young black stereotyped male who scares passers-by chickenshit, just standing on the street, just looking as they pass by.
I sing of a history with bitter, twisted lies.
I sing of sorrow which pierces to the marrow, through the fat, and past the bone.
I sing of rising from oppression.
I sing of death: being pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back.
I sing of children, gleaning in fields they have not sown.
I also sing of children, wanting joy of undeep and unabiding things.
I sing "America, America," we continue to rise.
Enemies of US: Give up! Our spirit, our song is too powerful to be overcome!

Mirror 2004-05-04

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Which is the finest country of them all?
Is it US,
Who "keep the peace" without a fuss?

No, no, I think not.
You're in a war, with all of the problems that's got.
I see not one country on this planet, not one at all,
That can take the heat when the world falls.

Surely that cannot be true
After all, here we wave the red, white, and blue.
We act as a good nation should,
Keeping the peace, doing some good.

Good, what good?
I see death and destruction, no good at all.
As for the colors, they have now death's ugly pall.
A war that no one asked for, but one president...

Well, which do you say is the best of them all?

Revolution No. X 2004-05-11

Well, we still want a revolution, some of us at least.
We want to change the world,
But we're unsure of where to start.
Some still talk about destruction, some carry it out.
Some people think that they have that "real solution,"
But it's not realistic at all.
They still ask for contributions for minds that hate,
But they still have to wait.
Some are changing the Constitution.
Some still cry "INSTITUTION!"
Most don't make it with anyone anyhow anyway.
Chairman Mao is now
Replaced with Saddam Hussein.
Communists replaced with Islamic fanatical terrorists.
Our minds have yet to be freed,
But we're doing the best we can.
And it still is going to be all right.

Presented in order of creation, edits done only to change original formatting to HTML.