| Dark/Light poems |
[Sep. 27th, 2007|07:06 pm] |
Janet and Chase already read this. Apparently, it had no rhythm, but i don't care, because the class seemed to think it was okay. And yes, Dark is waaaaaay better than light, because i was too lazy to put an equal amount of effort into both of them. Here they are
Cuckoo Coupe
By Scott Friedlander
The noble beast makes a cluck like the shriek of a ghost,
Enclosed in thin, edgy wires, left to melt in the sun, a burning hot roast
Fluttering about splinter-like chips, while the winds blow,
As if walking on George Clooney’s 5 o’clock shadow
When the buzzing of the bell rings and blares through the air,
The chickens scramble like cockroaches found by a flare
Seen is rhythmic stomping of students, the laboring limps and faces lifeless yet serene,
Like Keanu Reeves’s acting in Speed, The Matrix, or Constantine
Tortured during lunch, with the scent of rich, sweet cookies, or salty cheap meals
Instead, their feed is like bark of a tree, tasting of vitamins lacking any appeal
Flocking aimlessly back and forth in panic to escape their entrapment and pain,
The life of a school Cuckoo, because of man, becomes so hard and full of strain
But the darkness of what has been done to the gentle dinner entrée,
Is just as right as keeping Shakespeare prisoner for starring cross-dressers in his play
Full of life and movement like cars on the 405,
These birds need space, away from cages to run, flap, and thrive.
Free Flying
By Scott Friedlander
Rust-covered locks, creaky doors, and iron bars are absent for the floating aviators
They swoop in to feast on leftover food; they fight over it like bloodthirsty gladiators
The chattering of students serves as a warning, like a siren of a firetruck
To leave, to be free elsewhere, enjoying their life and luck
Lazy and carefree, the food they eat was more than that of Marlon Brando
They are wild, crazed, untamed and fantastic like the 80s character Rambo
The scent is like that of a garbage can, of food new and old,
The smell of tainted disgust, tasting anything on the ground, an action so bold
Their feathers, rugged, jagged and completely free of preservation,
Like the texture of a street or the surface of an old, battered, Sony Playstation.
Off to the beach, with rays of sun and return simple ease,
Flapping so high, to go about ‘bombing’ freely as they please
Free to do what they want in the glorious lighted day,
A sight of almost angels in the sky, of children, free at play |
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