The Daily Poetry Club

A few of my fellow BYU students recently created a website entitled, "The Daily Poetry Club."

It's pretty entertaining to be sure with a new topic posted daily for all to submit a relevant poem in reply... Here's the last poem I submitted in response to the "10/3/09: Freebie!" post:

Times tables and chairs and glasses
(or, The Legend of Daniel Sanford)

The memory of a math class
still persists
when time was shattered
when dreams were broken
and finally
pride was swept under
the table and chairs
(remember?)
(third grade?)
(how did we fit?)
(they were so low!)

If anything
any moment
meant anything at all
it was the timed tests
that rode the nerves
that made you squirm
in your tiny plastic seat
flexing and stressing
like a tinker toy
and for what?
for glory or fear?

No one cares now
that the sands have accumulated
and yet we always did
maybe not as much
as Daniel Sanford
that loony ninja nerd
so stressed
with his image
of unfounded genius
(because scrawniness
brings paradigm busting)

He just missed it
one problem
one little digit
no longer than your finger
barely
that was all
but something inside
exploded outward
in a mad fury
of ninja gaiden craziness
never seen off the playground

And so came the end
of a cheap pair of glasses
too thick
for a little master anyway
wrenched off his head
a two-handed job
and snapped
with a yell
and then came the teacher
and the stares
at the seppuku of Daniel Sanford

We were too young
too small to know
what had really happened
what had paused us
what he did
the broken glasses
the shame
and embarrassment
of a warrior
exposed
and brought to tears

. . .

So time passes
and our glasses
fill
or spill
or fade away
but we see
the light clearer
hindsight ever nearer
with each
and every
legendary day

In the mood...

Since I am on a roll, posting poems like they're going out of style, I figured that I might as well share one more. I originally composed this poem while in the LDS Missionary Training Center in 2003. I must offer a forewarning, however, to any who wishes to read on... this one's a bit different!

The Pleas-er Key-er

A stretched band of pearls, more white, less black;
glimmering, shimmering with glossy glaze glow.
The shiny smooth slicks at rest level lay;
a test for any best jester’s festering folly.

Who it allows or tries surely sees
these pleading, pleasing keys freeze and unlock doors,
scores of jump, trip, fly: Higher, High, Highest.

Here they are (were/will be) to break bleak stares’ silents;
10 marching soldiers, heavy feet falling boulders old orders filling,
called to attention on the spiffy spring-board platforms: ready
to start the game of the skip-hop bop stop tumbling flinging
like the singing of gymnasts’ flurry whirling dervish.

And then;
Snapped Nerves!
pulsing plunging pistons to the floor
of black and white marble tiles descending and bending;
the tricky tune pealed revealed by hot-potato palms,
a skitter-skat carnival tap like Kelly’s nimbles
slap the please! more! melodies out of the pleas dead gone.

Such sing and song dance trance of spazzy jazz romance
(from the clinking Chico pointers piercing people’s persons)
skis carving cutting the crisp, slippy slope still,
just missing, some kissing the sharp shark rocks, flats;
a spickle-spackle tackle spilling ‘Kovsky collide-o-scope
of Gehry’s wilting waves braves the paving road of rhyme
keeping time interred, fossil bones and stones and watches
tick notes not seen written on his mind forever.

The relays plays on a click beetle banter brocade
of olden golden melodies molten inspired never tired;
yet the carrier’s charisma cuts canst last,
past hours piled towers over waning wands’ wishes.

Ever bold, ever brilliant, bright, bristling warm,
was the storm (now subsided) of the pride praised picture song.

So gone is the giver grower of this glamorous glimmer?
Yes; retired the player his players the sound.

But;
Will the ever end-thusiasm?


ASC 4/24/05 - I revised this poem upon returning home from the mission. 7/11/09 - I just added one word... the one that was missing all this time!