73 years ago
A kid my age steps off a curb.
And, in the motion of falling, he believes he can reach heaven.
He has the thoughts of someone
with an inverted ribcage
And he’s sick on cigarette smoke and hypocrisy.
A kid my age, 73 years ago, calls me a pervert.
Through the thin veil of time and space
We lock eyes.
I say “I see you.”
He says “You’re sick.”
But that’s wrong and he knows it.
I am not the sick one.
He is the kid with the killing hat
And the giving hands
That despise the people he gives to.
He is the kid with filthy thoughts and phony smiles
Who sees the hollow spaces between his ribs
In the innocence of a child’s eyes.
And despite the filth beneath his tongue
And the alcohol stinging his throat
I cannot bring myself to
Feel anything for him
other than
Pity.
Though a doctor or a lawyer in my parents' eyes,
I eschewed that to become the best at catching flies.
I could have been a doctor (if I had been wise).
From their graves, I can still hear their tortured cries,
"When will little Davey finally realize
there's more to life than being best at catching flies?"
Doves brought the dream catcher to the young boy
The day he lost his parents
His mother by murder
His father by incarceration
His grandmother, who was from the Crow nation understood the doves
She was impressed that the Great Father had sent them
The boy was only eight
He did not appreciate the gift at the time
As the boy grew he learned of his tribal spirituality
The dream catcher was in his window
To remind him that his mother continued to live
In the clouds, sea, air, and earth
He told the story of how the dream catcher was delivered
To his children, and their children, and their children
It meant the world to them all
A reminder of his sainted mother
The catcher in the rye
I go and drop the ball
I lay it down and cry
I’m sleeping in the stall
Cause everyone is phony
Your company is lonely
Your animals are bony
Your everything is only
I’m underneath the bridge
Below the overpass
I’m locked inside the fridge
I’m sleeping in the grass
Cause everyone is faking
Every excuse for bailing
Your painted skin is flaking
Success story is failing
You’re spinning all around
Mascara masquerade
You’re walking without sound
A conga line charade
You’re hands and feet are bound
You’re tied into the ground
And nailed into the wall
I’ve lost sight of the ball
I’ve lost sight of the band
And buried in the sand
They’re telling me it’s fine
They’re calling me insane
They think I’ve lost my mind
They’re calling me Cobain
They’re telling me to smile
They tell me not to cry
And maybe stay a while
The catcher in the rye
It is what catches the eye, kindness of one being
You don't see anger, hey I want to be that
Eye catcher, one's personality adored
We truly want to be all that is
To be better person we portray
Ourselves showing emotions of the heart
Not hidden behind wall invisible
Alone in anger your rage you carry
Hurting, memory not wanting to forgive
It's truly eye catcher, rescue of another soul
Animal being saved, birth of a child
It is love we know, kindness existence
That we want to feel that kind of love
We thrive to be, even ourselves we train
As we practice getting up on right side bed
Skies bring colors, some joyful to see
Flowers blooms, an eye catching sight
As a cloud rolls, water of sea churns
Soul from the depths, what makes us?
We don't look to anger to be but be better
Eye catcher to perfecting oneself as a race
Mankind, suppose cause we was made by man
God of man, his spirit we walk in breath
The beauty of grace everywhere we look
That in ourselves we want to feel pleasures
An eye catcher, a soul just being human
With mild mannerism
I catered to the
emptiness while my
mind wandered effortlessly
through memoric findings
finishing my thoughts
whispering from beyond
calling out to me braising
white noise voices withered
screeching squeals shrills
witnessing hell beneath
Dante inferno balanced
mingling with drifting wails
gather beneath oak branches
blood soaked feathers
tangled threads watered down
beads of swollen sunken
eyelids releasing tears as
the mist of thee unrest
souls rises into the awaiting
skies within closed eyes
holding on to my own
remarkable faith
Diving for the ball,
Balling into a dust-
Orange roll,
The catcher tossed it back to the pitcher
After a ball three, and walked up to him.
The descent of the night's sky
Made the ballfield lights a sudden relevance.
The catcher's cleats hit the ascending tip
of the diamond. He threw back his mask:
"You got this."
"I know I got this."
"Just throw how you normally throw."
"I know. I will. I know."
"You know what to do. Let's do this."
"I got this. I got this."
Then something was said
From the catcher to the pitcher
Not even the poet's ears were privy to.
Anyway,
Catcher ran back
Behind the diamond
And squatted, throwing out
His target glove with a deft pause
So not to tip the batter off.
The next pitch was a swinging strike
High up in the zone.
The pitch after that was a home run
Caught by a nun
Out on Yawkey Way.
Oh well, there's always the next day.
By the way,
She blessed the ball
And gave it away.
My nights are long until you appear when I'm sleeping
You, the catcher I entrust with my heart for safekeeping
The handsome vision of the man I imagine in my poetry
On page after page I write of your love and a life with me
I feared never finding reality with you unless I dreamed
til your knock on my door made love as real as it seemed
Some Native Americans it seems
believe that the air is filled
with good and bad dreams..
The legend states that when one sleeps,
a dream catcher will trap the bad ones that seep.
Place a dream catcher at the head of your bed
and trap the bad ones in it's web..
The good dream will pass thru it's center hole,
bring peace and comfort to the slumbering soul.
Rest awhile,
the day is at its end and you feel broken,
and as tomorrow too seems hopeless,
I will open up my arms to hold you,
so close your eyes,
pillow me,
I'll be your dreamless slumber,
I'll revise your revile,
spill your secrets to the moonlight,
kiss goodnight the tears worth while,
and carry you through dawn,
but if you tomorrow too should crumble,
do so within my arms,
so you don't lose a piece of who you are,
then close your eyes,
pillow me,
I'll be your dreamless slumber
"Dreams do this, Catcher"
mystery in the heart
misleads the kiss
the kiss bleeds
like a somersault
backwards
into the comfort
of the dream
we find hidden notes
written in the music
we miss the heart’s
true translation
we turn the page
we get down
on our knees
too late the prayers
are taken in the plate
alms waiving
backstop
out of the park
the soft fall
shot hard
left field
right field
catcher
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Catcher of owl dreams
A princess of the best kind, it seems
Flinging fowls’ ideas in the atmosphere
Keeping only a few to glance at quite near
Watching them ping and zing to other worlds
Expressing owl opinions to other planets as they are unfurled
Catcher of owl dreams, goddess of the night
Thank you for sharing our dreams and making us feel all right.
This is the luckiest fountain pen That tongue makes me to pass the exam. This is the valuable double degree That coney catcher provides me to get a nice job. This is the famous multinational company. That ladder pays me a good pay. This is the valuable income. That lifeline drives me to run the family. This is the faithful family
That tree produces me more pleasure This is the lovely house That castle is built by my family's support.
Likewise ,this is the fantastic home
That class room teaches living together.
When I am joyless, dreary and forsaken,
When I want to see God's sunshine~
In a world that seems uniquely desolate,
I stealthily go to my Dream Chamber.
This Dream Chamber you see ,is under
the deepest of the deep blue sea!
It's my own comfortable place.
And has all my human needs in one space!
It is there you will see me as happy as any
poet can be.
I reach for my poet's pen, to write
to do my utmost best.
Exhausted, and taken over by my art.
Then and only then, can I finally rest.
Under the rolling sea, completely spent.
In the hush of my Dream Chamber.
4/15/2023
Awake I was while sleeping
up all night dreaming
a snore or two never heard
until the alarm was ringing
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.