Friday
April 13, 2012
It must be nice to have more than one B-Day a year!
An old poem that I've been working on for awhile. Still not sure if it's exactly where I want it... but, I suppose, if you write in one direction long enough, it will lead you to another way of expressing yourself. I did use the poster design from Romero's Land of the Dead. Need to make my own zombie pic for it some time soon.
The Weathergirl Promises
and Flesh
Eating Zombies
Somehow, in
some damn way the day seems off.
Although the
pleasant little weathergirl (Yeah, she was hot!)
said, Heavy thunder storms to be expected—
None, not
one, not a single one (as of yet)
has shown its
grieving face. No hail, no
thick sheets
of rain, not even the hint
of
disgruntled cloud. Just clear blue skies
to impale my
sad eyes upon.
I don’t like
disappointment... of any kind.
I’ve worn my
waterproof jacket for goodness sakes,
my winter boots...
in the middle of July, and there
appears to
be—on this sun scorched day,
at this sweaty
moment in time— no apparent
reason for
having done so. I hate it when God
reneges on a
solemn promise no matter
how pleasant
the final outcome might be.
And damn, George
Romero while I’m at it.
His flesh
eating zombies moved quite slow
like Jell-O
on legs, in the 60s, devouring all we
breathing things that got in their way
at an
extremely, leisurely pace. Perhaps
it’s because they were dead and just couldn’t
eat that
fast, or maybe, just maybe, they didn’t
have anywhere
to go, no pressing appointments
to keep, no
distraught friend waiting in a café,
waiting
patiently to tell someone, anyone
how lonely
this life has become!
Or perhaps
they were just being polite.
But monsters,
these days, move way too fast for me.
Emails!
Computers! Lightening speeds consume
the flesh,
mind and spirit with little time between
breakfast,
lunch or dinner to take a quiet moment
to be really,
really horrified by text messaging.
Gone in a
Cyberspace mini-sec... all gone. No
hesitation,
no reservations… skin and bone
gobbled-up like
so much raw tofu… all humanness,
depleted,
deleted… defeated by one, tiny misstep
on the cell
phone of life!
The bogyman, dressed
in black dragon tats,
tall and
pale, he waits at the gates
of his
Facebook account… Woohahaha!
I don’t want
to be forgotten when I die
or eaten
alive by computerized zombies
who will
(more than likely) swallow me
whole then
assume my identity.
Please, someone,
remember me... as me…
one who wrote
simpleminded poetry
and was...
almost always human.
rrw 7-10-08
(rewrite 1-30-12)
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