Happy Halloween?
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I've been obsessing about this silly poem (probably one of my worst). Here's the strange reason. I posted it and then deleted it, feeling empathy toward the poets I was reading here, who, to their credit, are more sensitive than me. These poets, write about, what I think is the best thing to aspire toward - beauty, and create beauty in doing so. I'm a bit challenged in that area, but I hope I've achieved some limited success. I was thinking, why would I subject anyone to this ****. Then, after deleting it, I got an email saying someone had commented on it. Yet, I couldn't read the comment because I had deleted the poem. After too much thought, I've decided to re-post this throwaway poem that is actually a dream, which I converted to a poem upon waking, making it a Halloween poem to assuage my guilt.. Why re-post? Because, I have an informal commitment to myself to write, as unfiltered as possible, whatever, pops into my vile, depraved brain. Yes, I may want to revisit the wisdom of that pact (to be continued). Sometimes, I try to understand why I dreamt whatever I dreamt. In this case, it's not hard for me to understand. I am the delivery man, I am the birds, and I am the recipient. It's a long story, but I recently bought a Ford Transit cargo van. Someone once asked me if I thought that all the characters in anyone's dream are actually different aspects of the dreamer. I don't think so, but it was an interesting question.
A downy feather slowly drifted...down
and gently settled upon the ground.
Full on, an innocent bird was struck
by an Amazon delivery truck...
whose driver, high on crystal meth, was wired,
yet, on this thirty-hour shift, was tired.
His mission was to deliver a poem,
speeding past the carnage below him...
which included a useful piece of fluff.
A mother bird grabbed a bit of that stuff
and used it for her little homemade nest.
With two young chicks, she thought it was the best...
thing to line their bed, just the right size,
not knowing it contained my ears and eyes.
I, the avian victim of that crash,
was the bird the delivery van did smash...
and so, unnoticed, I watched the chicks
as their mom went out to get some sticks
but those chicks would soon be out of luck.
Their mom was killed by a delivery truck...
driven by a drug fiend, who drove so swift,
with blood red eyes, on his thirty-hour shift.
So those poor nestlings grew up alone
'til they ventured to the great unknown...
where they met a fate, tragic and unfair -
an Amazon delivery truck was there
to both smash those birds and pulverize.
So here's your Halloween poem - surprise!
Copyright © David Crandall | Year Posted 2024
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