On the Colour Blue
by Francis Dieterle
Loss echoing off the walls of an empty theatre.
Love falling to the floor of the stage.
The silent slip of an arm down a pillow,
forming the curves of a perfect stream,
like a circle beginning and ending
at Point Wherever and stopping nowhere,
like the void and the leap into eternal
Nothingness and “filling” it,
like the electricity pouring over my head
in brighter-than-neon thoughts, singeing my eyebrows,
like the sailor’s streaky words flying through the air,
leaving traces of you hovering behind.
Now I'm no poet, but this has got to be my favorite poem in the world. It's good! 'The silent slip of an arm down a pillow, forming the curves of a perfect stream' - I can just imagine it. It's sad and meloncholy, but sometimes a little hopefull. Just how I think of the color blue, that periwinkle kind is what comes to mind. I found this on the collection of work of the New York State Summer Young Writer's Program that went for the 2007 year. It's a wonderful program, at least it sounds it.
I tried to enter last year, but only 32 students entering grades 9 through 11 are accepted. There's gotta be at least a hundred and fity, two hundred that sign up. Or maybe less, I don't really know. Nevertheless, I did not make the cut (?) I insert the question mark because they never actually sent me a confirmation of denial nor acceptance back via e-mail or snail mail. I was crushed, if I'm going to be honest here- I cried all day when I realized the date when I should have gotten something had come and passed- I thought, 'God, was I that bad they didn't even want to write back?' I know they recieved my application and writings- the fee check was cashed. But I have forgiven them- maybe they lost it, or botched up my mailing address or e-mail. My friend who also tried and sent in an application recieved a notice that she was the third runner up in case some people accepted couldn't make it, but nobody was stupid enough to drop out, let alone three. I just wasn't our day. But moving on, I found another poem that will rock your socks off.
Rainy Day Music
by Jason Fishel
Rainy Day Music
I believe
in the Father Almighty, maker
Of heaven and Earth,
etc,
etc,
ad infinitum,
sure.
But more importantly,
I believe in the needle
That burrows its way to the center
of the Earth, and I believe in the music
Of its voyage.
I believe
In wise men saying
only fools rush in,
And I believe that you just may be my candy girl,
and yeah, you got me wanting you.
I believe in the rain outside, and I believe
It will not stop this time,
Finally.
I believe in you and you alone,
And tears,
and clowns,
and countless stills of countless nights.
In blue velvet and black vinyl
And vice-versa.
And maybe,
Just maybe, this time I will dare
To believe that when arms fall off,
And music turns to scratch,
scratch,
scratch,
You will still be there, singing to me
Softly.
God, where do these awesome teenagers come from, and why haven't I met a guy who can spew home-made poetry like I'm sure these two can... Good job boys, you deserved the program, and I adore your poems here.
