07 June 2006

Questioning myself after meeting somebody really great--a flash poem (and a record that skips) for Dalene

I'm a lubber, not a tidal.
I am fodder, not a mudder.
I'm a bubble, not a hyphen.
I'm a snobber, not a choir.

I'm a twister, not a shouter.
I'm a double, not a climber.
I'm a sucker, not a talker.
I'm a dreamer, not a rhymer.

I'm a peephole, not a doorbell.
I'm a tin hat, not a hairdo.
I'm a bucket, not a beanpole.
I'm a tastebud, not an extract.

I'm a red truck, not a siren.
I am fishnet, not a french twist.
I'm a lover and a biter.
I'm the striped socks, not the dead witch.

6 comments:

compulsive writer said...

The feeling is mutual.

Thanks again--

Dalene

Geo said...

I really should have sandwiched POEM in quotation marks because it was a caprice, a bleary-eyed five minutes' break from my printing. I got that Michael Jackson line stuck in my head: "I'm a lover, not a fighter", and it just kept recreating itself in response to the questions I asked myself after leaving your house.

I am glad I ventured over to your neck of the woods for company and honeysuckers. You are made of wonderful stuff, and you've picked up another beyond-the-blog-and-in-person fan for your fan club.

But I have concluded for the brazillionth time in my life that I have a problem with shyness. I think it's time to get over that.

Thanks for sharing you with me.

compulsive writer said...

Now you've got me curious about the questions you were asking yourself.

I failed to mention my favorite is the third stanza.

And I'm so happy that you got over your shyness long enough to come visit--you are much more brave than I was.

But now we've finally met, I'm going to invite myself to your house sometime. Whenever the stars align...

Geo said...

c.w.: Oh, they were mostly of thee embarrassingly neurotic and self-critiquing variety. Extensive sleep deprivation + disdain of my own shyness = the occasional who-am-I-anyway finger-wagging session. My stream-of-consciousness "poem" was mainly me coming out of that murky moment, and finding my sense of humor again. If I can laugh at myself, things are good.

You're so nice to call it a stanza! Don't encourage me!

Yes, indeed, another rendezvous is in order--here, there, or anywhere. I find that the stars can be pretty accomodating . . . .

Melody said...

Love the poem. Whatever state you were in, it worked magic. And you're not the first to be moved to write by the amazing compulsive writer. ..she is a treasure.

Geo said...

Melody, thank you! I'm always happy to find a muse, and you're right, she's a great one.