6ca2640192
I reproduce this poem 'cause I like it and 'cause MG, an older lady, said it was profound, if I remember correctly
165 lines
3.2 KiB
HTML
165 lines
3.2 KiB
HTML
<html>
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<p>There have been poems that I have not made available on the Internet. Bearing in mind this limitation, my poem(s) may be
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found at the following URL: <a href="https://trust-in-jehovah.tumblr.com/tagged/poem">
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https://trust-in-jehovah.tumblr.com/tagged/poem
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</a>
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</p>
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<h3>Publications
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</h3>
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<p>My poem(s), which I authored under the name "rogbeer", has/have appeared in the following (digital) publications
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<ul>
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<li>'Tilde.town: 3'. Editor:
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<a href="http://tilde.town/~mio">
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'~mio'
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</a>. (2019). p. 16.
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URL:
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<a href="https://github.com/tildetown/zine/blob/master/issue_3/zine.pdf">
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https://github.com/tildetown/zine/blob/master/issue_3/zine.pdf
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</a>. Accessed URL on twenty-eighth of January 2020.
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</li>
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<li>'Tilde.town: Issue 2'. Editor: '<a href="http://tilde.town/~jumblesale/">~jumblesale</a>'. (2017). p. 12. URL:
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<a href="https://github.com/tildetown/zine/blob/master/issue_2/zine.pdf">
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https://github.com/tildetown/zine/blob/master/issue_2/zine.pdf
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</a>. Accessed URL on twenty-ninth of September 2018.
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</li>
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</ul>
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</p>
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<h3>Selected poems
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</h3>
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<p>No, my trip to the <br />
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sea-shore <br />
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wasn't a dream <br />
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See- <br />
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The sand on my feet-
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</p>
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<hr />
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<p>
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<b>Away to (hopefully) safety: A poem, written after reading
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Loung Ung's "First they killed my father", set in Pol Pot's
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Cambodia, rife with the "not-nice" Khmer Rouge, "destroyers
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of things"
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</b><br />
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Wordlessly, <br />
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I smacked the coffee-stain <br />
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on its rump- <br />
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And checked- <br />
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Was it gone? <br />
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Maybe, the sea - where I had sent it to - was not its home, <br />
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but then, <br />
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neither was I; <br />
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Or, I could no longer be
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</p>
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<hr />
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<b>To you <br />
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</b>
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<p>
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I’ve made markings on the shore <br />
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You’ll have to go there, before <br />
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the next time of high-tide, <br />
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If you want to see it - <br />
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You know the sea will devour it <br />
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Ain’t that like Snapchat without <br />
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The electricity? <br />
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You have… Twelve hours, <br />
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Maybe?<br />
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What?<br />
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You’re avoiding the beach,<br />
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You want to see it on the SnapMap<br />
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While you commute on a public bus,<br />
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And even then,<br />
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You might - might - decide not to give the SnapMap<br />
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Any attention,<br />
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You’re busy clucking at the bus-driver while<br />
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He jerks the bus perversely along?<br />
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I don’t trust<br />
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You<br />
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Nor your fickle<br />
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Attention<br />
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I- I’ll thank God<br />
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For the sea<br />
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For the sun<br />
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For the wind<br />
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For the sand
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<br />
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For the little child, shrieking in delight
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<br />
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As the waves roll in
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<br />
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I’ll pray to God
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<br />
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To make me his wife
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<br />
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We’ll marry, if He is willing
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<br />
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And then,
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<br />
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And then,
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<br />
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I’ll pray for you,
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<br />
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That you’ll have food
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<br />
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When you’re hungry
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<br />
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And water
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<br />
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When you’re thirsty
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<br />
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And then,
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<br />
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I won’t see you
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<br />
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I won’t be on the SnapMap
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<br />
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You don’t need to thank me
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<br />
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I’m your (unworthy) servant,
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<br />
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A hopeful wife of God,
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<br />
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Servant of God,
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<br />
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Child of God
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<br />
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(I don't mind being
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<br />
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A door-keeper in God’s house,
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<br />
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Either)
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<br />
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Not a lioness of God,
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<br />
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Sylvia Plath said she was one,
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<br />
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And then she committed
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<br />
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Suicide
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</p>
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</html>
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