A Little Locura

These poems perhaps only a few will read, but from those who follow me regularly (i.e. my family) I'd like some comments on how to work with them. One is from months ago, one from a week ago, and one from yesterday. Let me know what you think. I'll also provide commentary, as usual.

Let’s Be Rebels

It’s Friday night; I said let’s

look up an exotic recipe to cook,

shuffle cards and deal a game we’ve never played,

while we wait for the seasoned meat

to become tender.

Tonight, we can chase fireflies across a dark field,

listen as cars howl behind a patch of pines,

chuck a ball around, or a disc, or words:

I’ll hear you in the alley between abandoned buildings

and you’ll find me beneath the brooklet bridge.

These days, the rest want a less memorable evening.

The herd squeezes into a smoky disco joint

and fill their mugs from the river Lethe.

Suddenly strangers in a room of strobe shadows, they forget

who they are, where they are, or why.

Let’s you and I remember this night!

Let’s pull the moon close.

Let’s learn to swing dance in the empty park.

There we can spin until our clothes flutter in the light

like flags of rebellion at midnight. 

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So I have this theory which says that I'm a rebel. It seems many people claim to be rebellious nowadays when in truth, they are just following the herd. The "rebel" without a clue is nothing more than a follower. So why am I a rebel? Because I'm against the actions of the masses around me - in the case of this poem that would be getting drunk or smoking their lives away each weekend. The best times I've had have often come from spontaneous fun and doing something new. So all that is a bit of what I was trying to get at with this poem, the only trouble is that I feel this poem gets a little preachy and perhaps sentimental. I like the image of the last line, but somehow I don't like how I put it. It feels a little forced. I don't know - I just feel like this poem needs some reworking but I'm not sure where to start.

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The Madman’s Room

It only looks like a door, white and wooden

face to my room, hinge resistant

and unblinkable. A stone before a tomb.

Who can enter? A moist must leaks like sweat

out the cracks, the odor of doom–

dead skin flakes, dust, and garbage stacks.

Even incense can’t mask the grating at dark:

the itching clicks or jolts of frr! gt! shh!

Silence! Fingers snap like an odd clock’s tick.

And I, I twinge at these sudden night jerks

beyond the wall, where the empty man glooms

a ghastly racket that shivers down the hall.

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No real comment for this one other than to say that poetry is fiction; i.e. I don't want to worry anyone. I just want to know if it works well.

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Solidity

Punch your scrunched fist against me;

we could both fit on a pinhead –

the room inside each atom of your hand is barren:

           

            The edge sand whirls far

            away from the desert’s eye

            where cracked land stretches.

This is your yellow palm.

The electrons circle in thin lines stadiums from the core:

            Thick oceans revolve

            the top layer of earth’s onion

            never tasting depth.

Our eyeballs watch like this.

The nucleus is abandoned to watch the stars spin dizzy:

            The sky’s center flame

            burns and twists in a dead space

            we can’t hope to touch.

So smash your red fist against a table, a wall, a home.

Feel the emptiness reject you.

See how little of us exists.

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This entire poem comes from a mind-boggling concept that I was recently reminded of in astronomy class. In reality I'm not angry nor is anyone angry at me (so far as I know), but it was the example in the book to "Smash your fist against a table" and then to realize that because of all the empty space inside each atom, the truth is that all that matter (you and the table) could fit on the head of a needle if scrunched together. Yeah, it blows your mind to think about it. And so I started to write the poem and then I realized that I'd have to use some technical terms, but that I'd have to ground these terms somehow with images, so I opted to try the use of extended metaphors which I decided to put into haikus. A while back when I was reading the Iliad, I got inspired by his use of long extended metaphors that he would put , though all I've tried so far are short ones. Anyway, because the topic is a little confusing, I was wanted someone else's perspective and opinion.

Thanks! Love y'all!