"giftshop" poems - Hello Poetry

Jacob hated the film. He found it oddly depressing, like a slideshow at a funeral. The film gave the history of the valley. It laid out the last hundred years of the land like dominoes. The director had obviously tried to paint death as something inevitable and beautiful. You know, like a life cycle. The video was a gravestone. But the worst part, really, was the narrator, the way her sad soothing voice smoothed the whole thing out, again and again, every fifteen minutes, as if everything, everywhere, were okay.

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Feb 1, 2014

Feb 1, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC

kevin-mann

Giftshop Theater

Jacob hated the film. He found it oddly depressing, like a slideshow at a funeral. The film gave the history of the valley. It laid out the last hundred years of the land like dominoes. The director had obviously tried to paint death as something inevitable and beautiful. You know, like a life cycle. The video was a gravestone. But the worst part, really, was the narrator, the way her sad soothing voice smoothed the whole thing out, again and again, every fifteen minutes, as if everything, everywhere, were okay.

14

Use to be afraid to die. First time I learned about death I could only cry. Sobbing in the back seat of my parents car. Asking them why why?! My mind never went so far. To think my existence could just stop. Like it was just a 9 to 5 job. On the way out, not even a visit to life's giftshop. I learned the hard way to not be afraid. Still I really wish you stayed. My best friend, my soulmate. He thought me to see life trough a different set of eyes. Lifes filled with dark lows and bright highs. Everyone dies. So rather then waiting for your demise. Enjoy life while you can! Don't worry to much about your lifespan. Just enjoy the bumpy ride. Do not get stuck on ,did I get everything right? You can die in peace knowing you really tried.

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May 2, 2021

May 2, 2021 at 2:04 PM UTC

Lynck

Not afraid

Use to be afraid to die. First time I learned about death I could only cry. Sobbing in the back seat of my parents car. Asking them why why?! My mind never went so far. To think my existence could just stop. Like it was just a 9 to 5 job. On the way out, not even a visit to life's giftshop. I learned the hard way to not be afraid. Still I really wish you stayed. My best friend, my soulmate. He thought me to see life trough a different set of eyes. Lifes filled with dark lows and bright highs. Everyone dies. So rather then waiting for your demise. Enjoy life while you can! Don't worry to much about your lifespan. Just enjoy the bumpy ride. Do not get stuck on ,did I get everything right? You can die in peace knowing you really tried.

1

In the Paris giftshop the one deep wing of the vermilion angel lanced the outer dark. Outside, draping olive lines scattered and resolved abstractly as trees. The world was filled with incompleteness. Back home, with the second wife, the night was fragrant with barbeque, nicotine, & vetiver. Having no direction, I drifted into the smoking rain. Years later there is an arrival that thickens like glass, a transparency, a screen that flickers. It's her, and she's red-orange too. An investment, a face in gold leaf, a pale labyrinth. This time, years later, the deep wing is a drifting veil, and the olive line connects us like boardwalk string. The glow of the glass is a resolution. The Winged Nike of Samothrace is installed inside me: first the anxiety of the reach, straining for more. Then the frozen music, the perfect shape, even with pieces missing.

0

Oct 28, 2019

Oct 28, 2019 at 11:10 AM UTC

EvanS

Deep Wing

In the Paris giftshop the one deep wing of the vermilion angel lanced the outer dark. Outside, draping olive lines scattered and resolved abstractly as trees. The world was filled with incompleteness. Back home, with the second wife, the night was fragrant with barbeque, nicotine, & vetiver. Having no direction, I drifted into the smoking rain. Years later there is an arrival that thickens like glass, a transparency, a screen that flickers. It's her, and she's red-orange too. An investment, a face in gold leaf, a pale labyrinth. This time, years later, the deep wing is a drifting veil, and the olive line connects us like boardwalk string. The glow of the glass is a resolution. The Winged Nike of Samothrace is installed inside me: first the anxiety of the reach, straining for more. Then the frozen music, the perfect shape, even with pieces missing.

48