Poetry

Okay so I got into this poetry competition by accident (I wrote the poem in the entry form in 10 minutes and didn't proofread and then I got accepted) and now I'm headed into the 4th week of competition. Here's the Poems from the 1st three weeks for those of you that missed them. Oh and note: We have prompts after the 1st week. The prompt for "7 Miles Outside Maricopa, Arizona" was What Inspires You? The prompt for "Jacob" Was that we all had to draw a building on campus out of a hat and write a poem on it. I drew the Jacob Spori Building which is where I have 4 of my 6 classes this semester. And dont' try and read rhythm in the last one even though it rhymes because the rhythm is heard when I read it verbally, I'm not sure how it translates to paper.


Stuck in the Living Room


Don't call it a comeback!




I'm not ll cool J.
White guilt coming out of my ears
white noise, TV teaches
what it takes if you want to be black.
Blue carpet rubbing knees
raw, blue light dark room shines in my eyes
Stains clean out the prejudice.
Red seeing DJ's counting green clout
read in between the lines but
I'm still not ll cool J.




So please, don't call it a comeback.


7 Miles Outside Maricopa, Arizona

The Associated Press Handbook says the wind has to
be 30 MPH for it to count. On my bike in the desert I
saw it probably 20 miles away but it took only 7
minutes to catch up to me. I have not done the math.
Pedaling at speeds I still only dream of I hit the point
where the pedals just spin and you’re going as fast as
the A.T.P. in your thighs can propel you. But Mother
Nature is under no such restrictions. As grains of
kamikazes stung the back of my ears, my arms raised
to the crucifix and cycling became sailing. Sailing
inside a coffin because you can’t see but I’m flying
down Honeycutt road and for once in Arizona the
midday sun is dim as I’m trying to get to shelter. The
back of my hands bleed as my sail arms now steer
instead of handlebars. As they lift me higher into this
dry hurricane the crunch in my shoes, ears, eyelids,
and collar becomes inspiration and know I’m rising
with Elijah with the sandstorm as my Chariot.

Precipitation has a way of bringing us back to Earth.
Mud in my shoes, ears, eyelids, and collar as the
blood on my hands sheepishly smears and is gone.
The drenching deluge hits and I feel a bit like Noah
must have when he realized he was right but
everyone had to die. Eventually my arms drop and the
pedals have to push me forward like everybody else.
But memory of rain drips through my brain tissue as I
remember my arms spread and hands lifted feeling
raindrops like soaking grey skydivers committing
suicide on my fingerprints.

Jacob

IT’s a big gray box.
No really! It’s a big gray box.
I don’t wanna go to class in a box
I don’t want to go to class with a fox
I don’t want to go to school in the Spori
I don’t care if Dr. Seuss Wrote this story!

This is home to the department of communication
That’s my major, so let me vent my frustration
I’ve got 4 classes there, So I’m stuck there all day
Poems about prison are never okay
I have to write a poem about the stalest place in the world
The art department’s here but it looks like they hurled
Onto a canvas and then called it expression
We’re supposed to analyze it “oh that means depression”
It’s so obvious as we wear our berets
You just don’t get it, our artistic ways
The splatter and smudges of complete random color
Is a post-modern interpretation of a neo-classical shutter
I don’t
Understand
The words
Coming out
Of your mouth.

Spori’s the hipster capital of this town
So Put on some big glasses, get rid of that frown
Ironic t-shirts and moustaches abound
Can you hear that? It’s only the sound
Of that band everyone knew when they were still underground
The joys of this building can’t be spread around
It’s only the Spori where the hipsters are found.

I don’t mean to complain, it’s not been all bad
It’s where I met my friend Chelsea, no it’s not like that
So please understand what I’m trying to say
My rhymes are in couplets, and that’s here to stay
The Spori’s not just a building, it’s a magical place,
The only building on campus without brown as its face
So if you live in the Spori cause of your major like me
Please stop and say hi, I’ll be going crazy.