Winter Waltz

New poem I wrote up a short while ago. Definitely not my best piece, but I submitted a bunch to Stillwater, so I'd like them to get first publishing rights.


"Winter Waltz", an epic of personal conquest I crafted on a cold evening's walk
by Danny Gessner

The fields are locked,
they’ve chained the gates,
it doesn’t really feel right for play.
Things have changed,
the cars all go past,
although when i’m in them,
I’d prefer they go fast.
It makes more sense to live here now,
living in the winter's howl.
I don’t think less of the noise that pervades,
so much as the silence invades.

This is not my best poem of thought and time.
Rather, just some old silly rhyme
that i’ll bumble from time to time
and when i need to, make it rhyme.
The lamps grow wan,
disappear for eternity,
inducted into a dreamy fraternity.
I follow them along a path
maybe only God herself could have.
The towers loom, and horizons don’t get flatter
i march, and then again,
see myself in a reflection of hope and prayer.
Pray once again and I will.


Let me know what you think about it. I haven't even attempted rhyme in such a long time it feels so weird to work with all these slants.

Semester Excuse and Classroom Poetics

So I'm taking a lot of classes this semester. Like 7. That's 21 hours of class per week. Plus 10 hours of work at the Career Services office. Plus extra-curricular commitments. These include Assistant Directing for Ithapocalypse, a new zombie TV-show, General Manager/Treasurer for IC Players, an on-campus theatre group, and being a borderline member of Sigma Tau Delta, the English Honor Society. So I've been struggling to free write, except during my classes because I'm such a focused and attentive student. More stuff will follow shortly as this semester mercifully winds down, but in the meantime here's some of my random classroom poetry. It's unpolished, but that's what this blog is for.


***

I do not own a thought
nor an inkling of emotional significance.
I took the worn-out road,
but if hasn’t made much of a difference.
It’s easier to fade to that stale wallpaper
and blend with the punch and chips.
Cords do not bind my wrists or thoughts:
Just because I feel it, doesn’t mean it’s there.
Pathological rope marks won’t account for my grief.
The profit margin is just another lie;
Lies, damned lies, and statistics

There’s a systematic destruction of my self-esteem,
a veritable holocaust on positive thought and success.
The charred remains litter my mind;
the scar on the visage of the landscape
will only fade when the rest of me does too.

Is it wrong to shun the persistent pests
who actually have an honest desire
while I daydream about demi-gods
who wouldn’t answer my letters with a glance.
How broken do I have to be
to resign myself to mediocrity?
To ignore the pedestal champions
and focus in on the flyspecks--
never windshield wiped from the microscope glass
Maybe the residual bug juice can sustain
my stupid fucking wants
for longer than a visit from Dr. Feelgood
or rather Seabiscuit, always coming first.
Even the bad doctor’s still a distant second
to the gift of nocturnal submission to Morpheus
Whose chilled embrace comforts for a moment
before I become haunted with waking alone
cold. Scared -- clutching a pillow --
my desires don’t evaporate
they become transcendent
Until I walk the earth around me
zombified by what never was
Just because you feel it, doesn’t mean it’s there.


***


Please, anyone, I need your help!
To be specific, my head’s been growing too much.
I don’t have nearly enough thoughts to fill it.
If anyone knows how to stop my cranial swelling,
or could lend me an opinion or stance,
please, don’t hesitate to contact me!
Sincerely, Overly Inflated Head


***


Would you please help me ?
Would you please help       ?
Would you please         me ?
          you             help me ?
W u d  you pl  a  e h lp        ?
Would         please        me
          you  please        me
Would you                           ?
Would you                           ?
          you                           ?
                                     me ?
Would you please help
                                     me ?
                                           ?
                                           
                 please               
                                           ?


***


I savor the dense silence
as it envelops the room in a fog
seeping through the windows
straining our thoughts with significance
or else ignorance -- It is
caressing our loneliness
with half a parsec of Kantian peace
while drones fly through the dense space
between our thoughts and forgets

What turquoise spire intrudes
upon my pondering for a different pander
to merely list our academic’s musings
and borrowed hackneyed opinions?
(Why did I accidently write my lover’s name
between literary criticism and T.S. Eliot?!?)
Whomever decided to intrude with a harsh
scarlet ink and brand me a witch can,
with the utmost sincerity,
go fornicate themselves elsewhere --
my notes are for me.

Daily requirements, measured in hows,
trickling down a sandglass, cannot
bind my thoughts into a marble composition --
their minimum is both insulting
and yet still a hurdle for my laze.
Could I take this class blind?
The sightsores wouldn’t distract
from my quality time within my shared imagination --
and I can shred myself, thank you.


***

Fin. Well, what does everyone think? Be as harsh as humanly possible.