Bone did it this time. Look at the three words he chose for his meme, Three Word Wednesday: Burning - Quietly - Taxi. He implores participants to use them, in any writing form they wish. Such fun. But for me, growing up in the generation I did, even though mostly protected from much of what went on everywhere else, the words burning and taxi brought a tightening of the stomach - the word riot formed, but something else jumped in there at the end.
This is one of the few poems I have actually edited a bit.
The Riot
He sat,
Tear fragments
danced on polarized lenses,
splintering
the flames
of the burning
police car,
magnifying
the overturned taxi,
coloring
the abandoned gray van.His eyes darted,
closed, opened to see
without seeing,
retreating from whatshould not be
only to fall into
the stronghold of
what should not
have beenwhere shrapnel flew,
then fell
quietly behind
the walls they had built
one summer day.MeeAugraphie
08/14/07
Please, do not copy my words without written permission, thank you.
Now, click on the link above and read where other minds went — you probably would never guess what an eclectic bunch we are. Why don’t you join in and add even more variety?
McLeesBogaert
10 Comments
Reminded me of Iraq!
Gautami - Sadly this can apply to many places. When I wrote it, it was a riot on the streets of America, years ago, and he flashed back to ‘Nam in his head… but that may have just been my way of separating myself enough from today to write it…
this is so sad,,, mainly because this is many peoples reality… we may not agree with a lot of thins in our country.. but i think we have to admit flying shrapnel is not part of our every day life…..
Paisley, I agree.
Really, really well done. I was too young to understand thatT era, but a member of my writing group is writing her novel about it, and I’m becoming immersed and understanding now why my father was unnerved when my sister and I demanded to sit in the back of the bus when we visited our grandmother in Baton Rouge (we always sat there in white Sacramento, CA). He let us, but the coloreds gave us odd looks, except for one lady who offered us sticks of gum. I think she realized that we weren’t from around there, and we were color-blind. That must have been around 1969.
That scene has stuck with me… not because anything happened, but because it seemed so important to the adults and I sensed tension that I didn’t understand. And I sensed it was wrong for me to talk to coloreds, when I talked to them all the time at home in California. I didn’t understand what was different, and when I’d asked, I’d been quickly hushed. As a child, you can tell there’s a big secret, and the memory of the secret sticks with you more than anything.
Of course, perhaps you are thinking about Vietnam… another riot/protest period.
Actually, Gay, you are right for the most part on both thoughts. I had a riot in mind, though years after the late 60’s. One in Central Florida and another one I had read after that. And the shrapnel was a reference to ‘Nam. I was attempting to convey the riot was flashing him back somewhat to ‘Nam… Thank you for your comment, your insight.
Hi Marcia,
I saw the death of a loved one behind those walls. Walls that failed to keep out the power of hate.
Rose
xo
Rose, I am so so sorry. (I know a hug will not come near making up for the pain, but it is all I have to send.) I hesitated to even post this, but isn’t it our job as poets to write about all sides of life? I know it is, but I usually pull back from mass anything, especially mass emotion or should I say negative emotion en masse.
Chaos, confusion, rage, regret. These are just some of the emotions that emanated from this piece. I especially liked this part:
“His eyes darted,
closed, opened to see
without seeing,
retreating from what
should not be”
This perfectly depicts this character’s shock and confusion. How many times have we looked but not really seen? Excellent visual, Marcia. Well done.
Karen — thank you. That part was an add on. The shorter two verse first version, untitled, I read to my husband. He had no clue what I was talking about. While trying to clarify the poem, the words you mentioned just popped out along with the rewrite of the last verse. I suppose I should thank Leon for telling me the poem didn’t work as was.
I’m not a poet–ask many bloggers who were forced to read my two feeble attempts but Love good forceful poetry when a poem begins like this:
Tear fragments
danced on polarized lenses,
splintering
the flames
of the burning
police car,
magnifying
the overturned taxi,
coloring
the abandoned gray van.
HWow–I did think of riots in America–sadly some not as far back as Nam–then the poem did seem to veer into the Nam era–think the use of the word sharpnel hilights that. I am old enough to remember and hoped….
Very very beautiful
Pia, thank you for seeing the beginning as forceful. I wish it could force riots out of our vocabularies.
This was also my favorite part…so vivid:
Tear fragments
danced on polarized lenses,
splintering
the flames
of the burning
police car,
magnifying
the overturned taxi,
coloring
the abandoned gray van
I could feel his trauma, his shock at what he was seeing…beautifully written!
Fledgling Poet - thank you for feeling it, I wish none of us ever had to, even in poetry.
This is excellent, Marcia. It’s powerful, and I think can apply to many scenes in the world today and in the past. My first thought was of the L.A. riots several years ago. I’ve probably said this before, but I think this is one of your best
Well, Bone, it really is OK to repeat yourself, grin, as many more in the future as I can pull off… Maybe I should write more late at night like that — but then Leon may quit talking to the witch he wakes up with that hasn’t any sleep the next day… OK, seriously, thank you, Bone.
This was great. As someone who can’t write poetry, I really appreciated it
I’m glad it was appreciated, TC, thank you.
I’m not sure…
Things are slipping in time, I seem to be seeing the future and the past simultaneously.
“Hello?” he called out….”is anyone here?”
but the silence was overwhelming and won out over even the echoes drifting away.
….just before stepping outside the great cave, he turned once more and called out, “hello?” But, only the winds of the cave answered him as he stepped out and away.
Sigh, at least you heard the winds, Boneman.