Thursday, May 21, 2020 Riddle Poem from Yesteryear

It’s bedtime and I forgot about writing a blog post today! There’s nothing else I can do, but draw upon my poetry from my angsty college days and share one. As I look through these old poems, I’m somewhat embarrassed by how awfully dramatic and tragic many of them are: sad poems about unrequited love (or at least unrequited crushes), depressing poems about being depressed, poems about fear and anxiety…you’d think I never had a happy moment. But there were also some whimsical and “artsy” poems – you can’t be angsty all the time, I guess.

Here’s a riddle poem I wrote – not terribly difficult to fathom, but as I recall, it was fun to write.

My love is mute.
He has one dimension
And two homes.
The outer wall is
Brilliant and bold,
But closer to his lined face
The inner curtain is but a frail mask,
A thin veil of protection.

To bring him to speak
Is a casual torture;
First I spin him
From the hole in his body –
Then, with a fine needle
I pierce his licorice skin
And follow concentric circles
Until he is done.
Then I flip him to his stomach
And do it over and over again.

His screams of pain
Are music to my ears.

So, yeah – definitely not brilliant. But that’s what you get when I’m late to the blogosphere.

Good night!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning. Yawn.