Tag Archives: poetry

Memories of No Age Part I: Poetry

Here is a little poem I wrote for Creative Writing class Senior year describing some of the No Age show Glen, Ben, and I attended at Wellesley College in April ’09.

Here Should Be My Home

Glen had insisted there was a concert that night
We searched for THIRTY minutes for the music center
I was beginning to think my comrade wasn’t too bright
This was clearly not our place
Yet, we found a student
That was able to solve our case

It was an all Girls school
I could pretend to be a student
But, I’d look like a fool

We were told we needed to know someone to get in
But, with my impeccable, boyish charm
I was able to coax the sweet girl at the door to grant us admission
There was No Stage
For No Age
But, the boys managed to put on an amazing show
Filled with loud, fast, Punk songs
But, no atmospheric songs
Because Randy Randal
Told me that it was too much for the band to handle

Shrines Memory #1: Poetry

This was a poem I wrote for my Creative Writing class describing the Shrines show I saw on 6/7/09.

How Do I Keep You Outta Harm’s Way? (King Khan)

Soulful Supreme Genius spread in the air
The King came decked out in his white suit and slicked back hair
Accompanied by his lady, an ever-grinning cheerleader
And eight Sensational Shrines in their black Shrine Uniforms
The King ordered his minions to give him
A Loud and Proud response
They Roared
Unsatisfied, he Demanded again
This time the King was blown away
He and His Shrines exploded right into “Land of the Freak”
An apropos title for this setting
The fanatics hopped up and down
Side to Side
On the Stage
Off the Stage
The blissful cheerleader sprinkled glitter into the pit
As a cute little complement to the soulful music and funky dancing
As soon as the performance ended
Excessive crowd response ensued
Just when you think it’s over…
ENCORE!

Old Poetry Selections

Digging through some old school work buried beneath my feet at the table that I’m currently sitting at, I found some old work. I don’t remember much about these poems, although I presume I created them in 10th or 11th grade. I find my teacher’s comment on the last poem, One Final Catch, kind of funny. She commented on my paper: This is quite good up to here [the end], but what happened? It’s up for interpretation, certainly. I bullshitted it so it’s not like I even remember what originally happened in the end.

The Blacksmith
The Blacksmith is a capable apprentice hammering his way to expertise.
Ding, ding, he feels the beating, striking, pounding.
His job is now complete.

Tough Livin’
I cried for the poorest man’s dollar bill.
Picture a deprived man sitting next to a run down window sill.
When I was a young boy, Mama said:
“Keep trying.”
I, a fool, wish I could follow her command,
But here I sit with absolutely nothing in my hand.

Thermometer
I am exceptionally smart, although my attitude always changes.

Sharpie Marker
It’s like a friend: you can always depend on it.

One Final Catch
His vigorous work schedule meant me seeing him only once a week.
I did not get frustrated.
I knew he would come home and play catch with me.
I never wondered what my uncle did for work.
Our relationship was father-son like; not that it matters now.
I packed my sack with a glove and a ball.
I knew what we were doing.
“All right, sport, show me what you’ve got,”
My uncle’s voice was like none other.
He always gave me that extra wink and smile.
Now I know why.
That Saturday in March, Uncle didn’t say his usual:
“See you next week, sport.”
Instead he said “goodbye.”

Negro

Langston Hughes:

Negro (1958)

I am a Negro:
Black as the night is black,
Black like the depths of my Africa.

I’ve been a slave:
Caesar told me to keep his door-steps clean.
I brushed the boots of Washington.

I’ve been a worker:
Under my hand the pyramids arose.
I made mortar for the Woolworth Building

I’ve been a singer:
All the way from Africa to Georgia
I carried my sorrow songs.
I made ragtime.

I’ve been a victim:
The Belgians cut off my hand in the Congo.
They lynch me still in Mississippi

I am a Negro:
Black as the night is black,
Black like the depths of my Africa.

Chris

Black Lips

Bad Kids (Black Lips)
When you mix doo wop, garage rock, punk, and some robitussin
What do you get?
Bad Kids
Notorious Fugitives
Or simply
The Black Lips

OBSESSED!!!!!!!!
Yes, it required that many exclamation points
I don’t know why I love these guys so much, but I’m hooked
I Stood in a Sea of fellow devotees, Screaming in anticipation
As soon as they hit the stage
The crowd stormed into a frenzy
Never remaining still or apart until the end
Pogoing
Moshing
Stage Diving
Crowd Surfing
Ensured the Best Concert
Soaked in Sweat and barely hearing
The Night was over
But, the memory will be Forever

I’ll admit, these poems were not my highest quality of work. But, they were fun to write lol.

Chris

A Beautiful Bit of Poetry

Michael Nau of Page France

here’s a telephone
here’s a window
here’s a little dove to tell you how the wind blows

i’ve got a black heart
i’ve got a shadow
i’ve got a little dove that drags me off the ladder

you got a halo
a heart of gravel
little worms come out my darling rotten apple

i plucked the harp strings
until my hands bleed
but when that eye blinks ill be buried in the tree leaves

Continue reading A Beautiful Bit of Poetry