"tralfamadorian" poems
when I was younger
I got into staring contests
with the sunset
despite dire warnings
I challenged him
I thought I would live forever back then
or maybe I just wanted him
to blink
out
before I did
I fear death
I grew up a Christian
reading about Narnia
and there was one man
after escaping ten years of living
in a nightmare
as relief from his waking horror
he was given the gift of sleep
without dreams
forever
now
as well as then
I struggle to comprehend
how this was a reward
to fall asleep
and never dream
and never wake
this is death as far as we can tell
in my childhood
this was the only exposure I had
to the idea of VOID
and now it yawns wide open
at the feet of this newly formed atheist
and I am afraid
‘I never asked to be born in the first place’
-Last words of Adolf ******
(per Kilgore trout
(per Kurt Vonnegut Jr.))
the sunset is deep deep orange
and summer is fading
from green
to red and yellow
then to brown
then to white
I’m thinking of Christmas
watching a hawk fly
silhouetted against
the now hot pink clouds
to the sound of cicadas
and a whisper
of moist and cooling air
winter is hard to get through
then again
so is summer
the sky above me is the shade of lavender
I fell in love with
when I couldn’t find anyone
who loved me back
I was taking a bus trip from December
to late spring
everyone else was asleep
and I watched the sun rise
through palm trees and ferns
if the afterlife is composed
of floating through my time in this life
Tralfamadorian Heaven
I will be content
I am living now
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
“There is no beginning, no middle, no end, no suspense, no moral, no causes, no effects. What we love in our books are the depths of many marvelous moments seen all at one time.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five
Apparently, you can't put links into poems that you post on HP. I wish I'd known that before I wrote a poem that is almost entirely made up of links. If you're interested in reading it, send me a private message. I'm pretty sure you can still put links into ***
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC
This place is full of ghosts
pondering Tralfamadorian time
bouncing red ***** down haunted steps
rehashing old cliches
praying Loud Prayers
peering out of glasses
walking Spanish across parted oceans
and ghost-writing poems
for other kindred spirits.
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 5:53 PM UTC
The man sat precariously
Between malice and forgone destitute.
Marooned in his rambunctious desire to view through a port, nothing but envy.
Shattering wine glasses and screams into the inferno uphold this one man's bough of uncertainty.
Tralfamadorian trauma eats away at his grotesque painting of the rational.
He walks but an invisible eye among strangers.
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 6:48 PM UTC