Trying Hard Though/ Roadside

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Trying Hard Though

I’d like to be–
a breath of fresh air,
drink of cool water,
fireflight encirling warmth, nights.

I’m more likely–
a breath of cold water,
drink of end air,
night flight, circling–

Meaning, if you would find me, seek,
the sodden, panting, extremely late,
still warm–

*******************************

The above is a poem about what makes me weird for Mama Zen’s prompt on With Real Toads.  MZ, the mistress of the verbally distilled, limits the poem at 46 words.  Writing this poem led me to the longer one below–sorry to try your patience, but if you are interested, it seemed to me the better poem–  Unfortunately, the pictures I tried to get of what I describe below did not work out–they needed to be videos taken from a moving bicycle–something that is well beyond my pay grade!

******************************************

Roadside

What I like about myself–
that I bow to the shadows of crickets flickering on the tar,
when the sun shines at just the right angle,
the whir of my bike stilling
by the lithe field.

What I don’t like about myself–
that I see shadows everywhere.

What I like about myself–
that I think about that dance of grays
for days afterwards, that I think too of the field–
how the grass rippled like a stream,
light sparking in the dry darts
of thoraces.

What I don’t like about myself:
that my brain feels
like crickets scampering.

What I don’t like about myself:
as many things as there are crickets
in the field.

What I like: that, for a short while, while the sun shone
at just the right angle,
my mind wheeled in sync
with singing legs.

**********************

Thanks.

ps–I will be without Internet for the next few days so will not be able to return comments. Will respond when I return.

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11 Comments on “Trying Hard Though/ Roadside”

  1. brian miller Says:

    smiles…glad you found your happy place on the bike…
    i think too we all have those things that we dont like about ourselves…for one reason or another…and i dunno
    kinda glad i can see those shadows…

  2. lynndiane Says:

    Interesting perspective of your mind, roadside…riding bike makes me feel like a kid, whee! Yes, we need to enjoy those wonderful moments when everything’s in sync 🙂

  3. Susan Says:

    Crickets, shadows, whirring … I couldn’t not read the second poem I like both titles, but the images in the second poem are so evocative of a time when, yes, we bowed to the shadow of crickets and legs and wheels–what free and capable moments.

  4. Helen Says:

    I love the photo ~ the shadow of your bike wheel is neat! ‘I’d like to be ~ I’m more likely’ is refreshingly honest and works well within the word limit of our good Dr. Zen! # 1 my favorite …

  5. claudia Says:

    love the singing legs and that you found that place of peace and sync… there’s lot of things that i don’t like about me and i think we tend to be too rough with ourselves…sigh… note to myself… smile in the mirror more often

  6. Karishma Says:

    So lovely!!! Love how you have put both of what you are and not… It’s beautiful

  7. Marian Says:

    love it, Karin. i like the first, i like them both. the repetition works in the second, but i think i like the lack of it up above. still, crickets in the brain, lithe fields… all of it paints quite a picture of truthy goodness, and a bit of confessional. very nice!

  8. hedgewitch Says:

    The first is sharp, neatly ironic and quite coherent even though it is so brief, but the second is my favorite–an amazing, lucid poem of looking inside oneself and sorting things out, not too much, just enough to see what’s there, just enough so the clutter is comfortable and the shadows are held at bay. Beautiful.

  9. Mama Zen Says:

    I love both of these!


  10. Two great poems that serve as inspiration for more poetry. For me the first just begs me to take it and run with it: “I’d like to be….”

  11. grapeling Says:

    different hues of a similar flavor. I was promptly reminded of the term ‘crickets’ – for the absence of response or applause – and how those scampering scamps make themselves absent. ~


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