An Apology

On our last class, I wasn't prepared to discuss the poem we were supposed to read.  I had spent all week trying to memorize the poem.  I think I may have disappointed our teacher in a small manner by reverting to a sort of immaturity.  Instead of discussing the poem I attacked the scansion discussion we had.  I mocked the poem, it's structure.  Instead of thinking critically I receded into one of my defernse mechanisms.  During class she issued a challenge of a parody.  I left class, and instead of paying attention in my next class I read the poem, and wrote the ensuing poem:

Bayberry Cove.

I went for a walk,

                                    down the path,

                                                to Kroger’s on my daily walk.

But then I turned

back; to the apartments.

And I travelled along the paved sea on my return home.

           

The paved sea.

It was icy, and windy, a black sea seized white under winter’s grasp.  Some paved black, breaks through…although after a bit;

the blacktop is overcast.

            The walk imprisoning, bond in all forms straight lines edging where the side walks end.

            Imprisoning thoughts, bindings in all forms.

            Though I walk freely bound under-

                                                                    hues of slavery.

My mind, like my walk is bound to the ebb and flow, yearning for a sense of direction.

A significance.

            Freedom found in idle thoughts

There are cars in motion,

            Slaves to this live.

                        Familiar strangers, people I barely know; they fill my house

They come and go, pains of remembrance

reminding me who I am…

            In this concrete nature, there are few lines.  Buildings grow and cannot be drawn, the swaying grass cannot be found.

            The disorder of Bayberry Cove, the rows of cars.

Disorder amongst the children’s play.

            I have erected boundaries, based on predisposed conclusions.  I have drawn lines from the inside out.  In chaos there is order, and within order there is a chaos.  The rows of cars will not quite be the same today as they will tomorrow.  Becoming thoughts of yesterday…

            Ending a beginning that has not yet begun. 

            The black sea fades, to grassy walkways and dirt trails running along the creek side.

            There was no moon last night, a celestial body, cover in a blanket of overcast clouds.           

Through the woodworks they crawl, these faceless strangers delivered under the days sun exposed to risk.

            A bottle here, a battle there an inexact measure of time.

            The white globe passes through the air, back and forth, marking the passage of time.

            Vomit is wiped away, a lost possession.

            The risk of time in every living thing.  The demands of life is to keep living this dream…

            Be it a nightmare, the end of day is here.

            Alone, so alone filling the home with thoughts of lonesome love.

            The passing of time, why can’t I hit rewind.  Or find the meaning…

                                                                                                            The meaning of time.

Time is swallowed in seconds, and minutes, lost to hours…lost to days.

            Thousands pass, uneventful and forgotten.

            The only constant is change,

                                                noticeable,

                                                            inseparable.

A perception of time,

The calculating of an incalculable center.

            In the bellies of homes, order is sown, broken down into changeless states

Lifeless shapes, becoming living and real.

            Chaos is working with order, together and against.

A series of millions of events

From the formless concepts, I have formed a formless mold. 

In this forced image,

  A meticulous plan of organized thought.

In this reality of perception;

                                                Serenity is found.

Bound in terror…

            Order pervades… to grasp disorder.

There is no final vision.

For I have perceived nothing in my mortal walk.

It's not quite the parody I had set out to write, but it has become what it became.  I'll offer a bit of a analysis of the poem for any who might be curious.  I didn't set out with any intention of a rhyme scheme, however I probably forced a few in the poem.  The structure is simply miming the poems inspiration.

Kroger's is down a dirt trail from my apartment, and the paved sea represents the blacktop of our driveway.  Our apartment complex doesn't plow the roads very well, so they are covered in the winter's snow.  Carson's Inlet speaks of the liberation of the Author's walk.  But my walk is one bound in slavery.  In many ways I'm looking for some sense of direction as I have set adrift in this life.  I find my freedom in my thoughts liberating me from my responsibilities.  Strangers in my house refer to to my friends and family.  The people I love, remind me of who I am.  The disorder of the cars represent the parking lot, these cars will come and go and park in "claimed" spots.  Although they will look the same tomorrow they will have moved.  Becoming thoughts of yesterday, is a reference to how often we plan the future.  We forego the present laying our plans.  Thinking of tomorrow, today.  The passing of the white globe, and the bottle and the battle are a reference to beer pong.  I can't tell you how many nights just hanging out with my friends the time had passed without counting.  Our lives have become consumed with time, and time has slipped away.

But that is all for now, it is time to watch, "The Walking Dead."