Poem: Flight Rhythm Dance

I got some good responses to my Autumn poem that I wrote last year and my Charred poem, so I thought I would put one of my newer works on here.

Before I get into to this poem, I would just like to make a few things clear. I'm not a trained poet, I have very little poetic knowledge, and I couldn't care less if I failed to follow a certain technique or something. I only put them on here in hope to ignite someone else's poetry streak. I don't believe you have to take classes to write poetry that is meaningful. Sure, I won't ever get paid to have my stuff put in a book, but I love writing it. That's all that matters, I believe. (It's just like an ugly hat. If I love wearing it, and you hate it. That's your problem. heh.)

I look at poems the same as paintings. I'm gonna look at it and see blobs of paint, but someone else is going to see a masterpiece and buy it for a million dollars. That being said, I love to read others' poems and love to hear comments about mine. (I do love me.) I started writing poetry after I got a huge mega crush on this boy in 7th grade (oh they were bad, like a love sick pre-teen bad, but I did get the boy in the end) and it has developed from there. What it developed into is anyone's guess.

As for the story behind this poem, it is actually very strange. (As are most things in which I'm involved.) I actually wrote it during the time that I was working at a local supermarket deli. (slicing meat, butchering chickens, and frying taters YUM) I was sitting out in my car during my 15 minute break, and started thinking about how the job was monotonous, and nothing new ever happened. It was wearing me down. I was not being challenged, and I felt stuck in a vicious small town cycle. (And getting paid jack-squat) It was then I saw this crow circling its prey, and I heard the drums of the local band practicing. (The high school is right by the supermarket.) I grabbed an old store receipt and jotted this poem down.

Blah, on to the poem:
Stuck in my cycle I am now,
Yesterday, today, and tomorrow still,
Its weight a throbbing inside ache,
Would do anything to void the deal.

Dreams of youth are fading,
As up toward the sky I glance,
A bird of glorious black I catch,
Through the clouds engaged in dance.

Now, I think of freedom not,
Nor of the wondrous flight,
Not of many hard battles fought,
Or of the spiritual clouds white.

As I surrender to the divine creature,
With each flapping of its wing,
I begin to hear a rhythm line,
A bum, thump, hum, and ding.

Life has its own mysterious musics,
As so does my mundane routine,
This glorious bird has my theme me gifted,
And an ear to it I finally lean.

The beat is nearly formed,
Dum, dum dum, dum, dum,
Lower on the tone,
Bum, bum bum, bum, bum.

Add the snares with a,
Dink, thump, ching,
And the sound of bells,
That will always ring.

Now my song is formed,
Perfect and ever in change,
It volume will only grow,
And expand its beautiful range.

by: Jenn (January 2009)


Put a rhythm to your day,

Jenn