"Please Don't Take My Air Jordans" Reg E. Gains Response

One thing I seek in a poem is uniqueness; this poem is certainly unique. I admire the obvious use of poetic license; words are all over the place and misspelled and abbreviated. Reg E. Gains captured the character so well it was hard to believe that the poem wasn’t about him; that it wasn’t about a specific moment he’s experienced in his life. This time he wrote to the struggling kids. He showed them that he understands; the poem showed them better than any other form of communication. He wrote in their language.

            I find the one character in this poem especially interesting. He seems pretty average at first. Like all the rest, he wants to fit in with his crowd. He wants to be “seen rather than heard” and that’s strange to me. I know what it’s like to be frantic and a little obsessed with being like everyone else. But, I have self-control. I positively convinced that knowing yourself and liking whom that person is, matters thousands of times more than the way others see you and know you.

            Yet this character, whoever he is, thinks the opposite and I think I know why. After a while of obsessing over the clothes and possessions others have, you find yourself slowly slipping away; you find yourself wondering who you see in the mirror every night. And when you’re totally gone, no more slipping, just gone, you end up doing something sickening and wrong like shooting and killing and innocent person for what they have on their feet. But the worst part is, you won’t even feel regret or unease or doubt in the morning. His impulse decision to shoot for what he wanted explains how weak the character really is, how easily he’ll give up and give in. He lets objects define him and he knows it: his “gear”.

            So I think the author so cleverly crafted this poem to get the young and desperate readers to recognize what they can’t let happen to themselves. He’s trying to get them to realize that they can’t fall so under that they’d kill for something they don’t even need. The urge should not get to a point where you know longer have control. You can’t lose yourself.

            But the scary thing is, people do every second, every minute, of everyday. Each day a gun fires. 

Narrative Poem with Rhyme:

We Have Conversations With Our Selves

I stepped out the door

of that blinding, silver jet

kiss perfection goodbye,

welcome regret

I only wanted their praise

Make them proud, feel supported

I wanted their tender hearts

I’m so sorry very sorry family your lives were aborted

It’s so puzzling

And uncomfortably quiet out here

We shiver silently by night

On our toes when dawn’s near

I often question myself

Wonder why I enlisted

To have sanity ripped harshly

My reality set drifted

I see killings

And killings and deaths of my friends

If there’s one thing I’ve learned

Don’t make friends, now pretend

Pretend that you’re not thinking

God, what if I’m choosen next

Though, leave my body and my troubles

Sore, the sky’s mine, perplexed

But that would mean leaving them

It’s against my morals

I’ll stay alive, 'cause I love them

It can't be a death quarrel

Now I’m certain,

For sure

Don't worry, no debate

No light in the tunnel, no open gate 

Poem About an Incident: Shoot

They left me in the rain

miles,

but minutes away

and I felt that wave

that rush:

fear.

I moved gracefully, floated to the window’s ledge

I watched as their shadows grew small

until all was still

and the streetlamp flickered.

But, They came, They ruined it

I thought they’d continue past me

I sat frozen

even my eyes quivered

They walked with a revolver,

sneer on their faces

their faces said hate

and I knew they weren’t leaving

I was right

The chimes jangled as they walked through the door

and here’s were it really blurs

I remember hiding,

shaking

from the steel in their hands

and that feeling of having no body

no one to save me.

panic

I blinked and I was gone

home,

real home.

It wasn’t real

not real

but I couldn’t help the shivering.

Poem Response to The Scream

The sky is bloody

And here I am

Shadows shake and I shriek.

Yet behind, just out of reach 

Serenity

That only darkness follows

So I can never win

No one wins. Ever.

Some look at me funny like I’m

Particularly eccentric.

But they don’t know what I do

They can’t recognize truth

When it’s staring them directly in the face.

Believe it.

Try.

Look over the balcony

Further.

Yes, past your egotistical troubles

Your hazy mind

Gradually take in what you see

Calmly now.

And see it.

Dark

You may wonder why I screech

Why I yell

Why I scream

Don’t wonder longer.

It is this. What you see.

I am frightened.

You should be too. 

Response to The Starry Night By Anne Sexton

If a poem could so closely represent a painting, it would be this and The Starry Night. I can't tell if Anne wrote this as herself in a state of desperation and depression or as Van Gogh during his time of anguish, either way I seem to understand what she's trying to get out, though it's somewhat hidden. It took me a while.

            Like anything, this poem has two sides. The poet uses harsh and aggressive words to describe her feelings yet what she is describing appears peaceful and quiet and beautiful. The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars… an old unseen serpent swallows up the stars; beautiful words just bursting with rage.

            If you think about it, the painting is beautiful yet filled with anger and depression, which makes me wonder how different Anne and Van Gogh really are. Both are incredibly deep and they seem to think the same way. They recognize how stunning and dazzling the world is, the sound of the wind, the glow of the stars. Yet they want to leave and throw away their sadness and weight. Anne’s poem reminded me of a suicide note. I wasn’t shocked to later find out she committed suicide. They’re not so different at all, really.

            So maybe suicide was their only way to get what they truly, ever wanted, freedom and beauty.

           

See that’s what happens when you dig a little deeper, you find yourself coming to a major realization and you know what they’re saying. You get the poet or the painter or the writer. You get it and you get them.

Of course we all think differently, our interpretations could be completely wrong. But I don’t think it really matters because after coming to this realization, you may realize something about yourself and knowing yourself is more important than anything. 

Observations and Interpretations of Art

 The Scream, Painter: Edvard Munch

Observations: The colors blend together to make the back of the painting look soft, almost one. The lakes or water are painted with many different colors. It’s somewhat hard to tell the lake from the ground. You can make out small gondolas it the far back of the painting. The sky uses vibrant colors (orange, red). The sky looks a bit like waves; you cans see the brush strokes. In the middle of the back of the painting, there is what looks like a shadow of a man. The screaming man looks abnormal, bald, squiggle shaped. He looks a bit like an alien. In the far left of the painting there is a “normal” man wearing a suit. Boardwalk is also a few different colors, has some white mixed in. The screaming man is looking to the left.

Inferences: The blending colors shows beauty or simplicity. The many different colors in the bodies of water show how different the parts of the world can be. The orange/red wavy sky represents more beauty but calmness especially with the gondolas in the lake next to it. The harsh brush strokes represent how the world is seen in different ways and the world has imperfections. The man represents the outsider, the person who is different and shows it and the other humans behind represent our “normal society”. The shadow might represent darkness in the peaceful world.

Interpretation: I’ve been observing this painting for a little more than an hour now and I’m beginning to realize that it isn’t simply a picture of a man screaming; I think it represents the world and its many forms. I think it shows how outsiders are portrayed: as aliens like the screaming man in this picture. The outsider’s features are different, like their clothing, and their actions. This alien man is how society looks at people who are diverse. As for the other part of the painting, the beautiful colors blended to make shades show how peaceful the world can be if we let it.  But there is always a dark patch; something preventing us from achieving our goals; the shadow. It’s small, almost hidden; if you glanced you would not see it, but it’s there, always.

What Is Poetry?

A poem is a rainbow

because a poem is different 

Different like colorful

Different like us

We've got stories to tell

Poems are those stories

Whether you realize or not

Experience is a poem

"Write What You Know"

How can you not,

really

Our universe is complex

Like a poem

A meadow is simple 

So is a poem

A poem, a reader works hard to decode

A poem, the poet understands with ease

Sometimes it's hard to describe, 

with the world full of unique perspectives and all

I do my best.