I have no delusions of grandeur regarding who might read this and what it might lead to. It's simply one of the things on a list of many that I can now cross off. I've decided to post my attempts at poetry here as well as anything else that suits my fancy. Hopefully I can make this last more than a week...we'll just have to see.
I have never thought of myself as a writer of poetry, prose or anything else. There were no piles of notebooks surrounding my bed as a kid, full of my thoughts and scribblings. I was one of those people that simply enjoyed reading poetry and any other type of writing I could get my hands on. I am still one of those people. So... I guess I'm a reader. But, I figured since I am physically capable of writing I might as well give it a try.
This poem was inspired by a conversation I heard between my sisters during an afternoon drive here in Washington. The first four lines were actually spoken by them after seeing a sign for a "luxury" trailer park, or something akin to that.
This is not an attack on trailers, mobile homes or the people who live in them. It's more a commentary on a state of mind that has permeated our society and suffocates what could be, what could have been. There's nothing hidden here, it's literally quite literal.
Reality of a Tinderbox
Trailers…? On a hill…?
Wait, what does that say?
What does that mean?
One shrub, one scrubby patch of sickly green,
Is that the luxury of this living?
Redefine, renegotiate a meaning,
Poverty hiding behind a well-lit sign.
Promising promises, but
Only delivering littered corners,
Infused with the aromatic stench of ignorance
And forgotten, misused pride,
Emotional refuse forming valiant pillars to support the facade.
1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi, 3 Mississippi, drowned slowly by a state of mind.
Dust can be blown away,
Insurmountable obstacles burned by driven hands.
An effigy of energy, possibility, hope,
The mountain vanquished under the turn of a well shod heel.