24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
An uneasy wind with persistent wings
Declares me its prey and brings
deeper dread, deeper than fear
I’m afraid I might hear
My own apprehensions in the dizzy silence
I fear distress may resort to violence
If I am made to stay any longer
The trepidation will grow stronger
I must leave their company, the company of all
And hide away in my small
cozy, quiet self
And gaze at my shelf
Pick out another book, Dickens or why not Austen?
And excercising
Oh the deception of Fear,
with it’s False Evidence Appearing Real
and the redundancy
of future tripping.
Such anxious delirium
produces naught
but frozen tense
reaction, inaction
and restless hamster wheel spinning
in the cage
of my mind.
Conscious awareness
of each breath
brings me home
to Now.
Can you hear me?
I said, can you HEAR me?
No, can you hear ME?
CAN you hear me?
Can YOU hear me?
You complain that I get over-dramatic
But you wouldn’t listen to me until I did
They say to let out your feelings and say what you mean
But no one believes me when I use simple words
This bothers me
Well you can get over it
No I mean this makes me feel like my brain is going to bleed out of my ears
Did you have to be so over-dramatic?
Well you didn’t listen to me when I said this was bothering me
What more choice did I have?
I use the tools of poets and writers
To try to force you to understand
That I want to scratch my veins out of my arms
That shocks of electricity are bouncing like pinball off my skull
That crowds when they are too close make me want to scream
That too much tension and closeness makes me want to commit acts of violence
That unexpected noise jolts me out of my train of thought, derail me, cause me to crash the train, and it takes work to get it back on again
Do you get it now?
Do you understand yet?
Can you hear me now?
Listen to me
I’m telling you everything you’ve ever needed to know
My first hitchhiking trip was from Toronto to Cambridge.
10 rides.
18 hours.
With my long hair, beard and back pack
I blended in easily with the other hitchhikers.
The drivers were mostly lonely salesman,
who needed an audience.
My role was to listen,
almost priest like,
to their sins and troubles.
There was nothing scary except
for the man with 12 inch knife
attached to his belt.
Scary would come on our hitching
trip across Canada
when the trains were on strike.
We survived and have stayed hitched ever since.
Poem 7: Tongue in Cheek
It’s really not the smoking
Or the unhealthy eating
The opening ‘just one bottle’ every night
The random, careless sex
The liberating drugs
The wild driving
The daredevil in you
That’ll bring you down, my friend.
It’s your all-consuming, nagging fear
Your sense of trepidation
Apprehension
Perturbation
Anxiety, foreboding,
Those niggles of disquietude.
Those will get you in the end.
(c) Anne McMaster 2016
Technology is a strange and mildly addicting science at best. It is not as mysterious and as far reaching as the study of the stars as in astronomy, not to be confused with astrology.
Technology is the means by which we communicate most readily. Two of the poems for this event I wrote by hand, yet time does not allow for this kind of luxury.
Technology begs the question of efficiency and conformity. It offers equanimity to those that master its quirks, but let’s be honest who hasn’t had a printer go off task when you need it most?
Technology is hip, it’s happening, it’s always in vogue, and it tests our ego “to do more and be more”.
Those again who utilize technology are rewarded highhandedly.
The smooth PowerPoint presentation will soon be outshined not by excel or publisher, but by other application programs that have yet to be christened like some new star, planet,solar-system, or galaxy that can be named just as easily by anyone who can provide the funds to get in the name game.
Prezi, Keynote, Google Presentations, or Slide Rocket… these are all buzz words in a sea of programs evolving much like newly formed stars, or should I say,newly named stars in a universe of novelty.
Windows or Mac, Republican, Democratic, Libertarian, or Green Party, let’s not forget the Independents. It’s all a name game to those who choose to play the part of a pawn in the hopes of moving up in the ranks to win in a game of chess in high-stake politics and technology. This is our reality.
By the time one star shines bright enough that we recognize it, it is almost too late because the next best program or app has already come out and it’s on to the next big thing, new name, new face, new brand.
That very star has come and gone, just like technology we are forced to live and coexist with the excess of knowledge in this fast paced reality, and before we know it…the star has died long ago.
So don’t get too comfortable with technology. It can cut your commute just as much as it can injure your ego and ergonomics.
Be a butterfly and sample the nectar, don’t be a bee and get poisoned by the malware pesticides that alter your pattern.
Learn to live among the knowledge seekers and apply the information gathered; don’t just accumulate it.
We worship a star ignited and extinguished long ago, we have to keep up or we become slow.
Do you take take time out to listen
Or lend a helping hand
Do you see what others are missing
And try to give to them
Do you only give the basics
Or go much deeper than that
Do you spend time well, not wasting
Giving till there’s nothing left
Do you try and solve the problems
Give a good listening ear
Is your shoulder easy to cry on
Are you comfort between doubt and fear
Do you try and do what’s right
In all that’s done and said
Guess what I’m asking at this time
Is do you do your best
For many years I walked the earth frail in comparison to many. Slender and sleek I thought I appeared and pleasant when I speak.
But told by many how sick and empty of my frame and upkeep. Never beautiful or needed.
My self esteem quivered and shook and I was left defeated.
But when the wind blew my footing didn’t leave me stranded.
In a battle of strength these bones have placed a victory. I can’t be handled.
Over many praises of beauty many I use to seek.
Now know no matter big or small fat or sleek
My strength is more important than the lbs in whispers they speak.
I used to dance, you know
Though it was more like
Prancing around…all day long
But it made me happy.
That day, when it all happened
It felt like dreaming
Floating over the sky
And when I woke up..
How did I feel?
Nothing..really
It was just a void
Nothing more, nothing less.
I cried…when I was alone
So no one could see me
I was strong, you see
Atleast I tried…then cried again.
I used to dance, you know
It made me happy like nothing did
Then they took away my legs..
But couldn’t take my dance away from me.
Can one
ever be
so bold
when one
is not
too old?
When I was a child,
the adults often asked,
“Why are you so bold?”
You are too young to be so bold!” I was often told.
To which I replied
that being bold
had absolutely nothing
to do with being old.
Instead, I believe that
being bold is like
being brave. One can be as bold and,
as brave as a lion
at any age.