Poems and Prose #23: Torpor

The languid leaves lie still,
the evening wind now gone,
lit from beneath by some warm glow
that leaks from soil aged and worn.

Their veins stiff and dry,
the browning tree lefts sleep,
fecund in their will to rot
and make the dirt more deep.

Poems and Prose #22: Slope

Hoarsely, he whispers,
another day disposed,
thinking that these words
mean so much more than those.
He musters a sigh
and toys with his pipe,
fondly recalling
exhaled smoke and spent life.

The room's curtains billow
and light dots his face,
speckling his wrinkles
like a poorly washed glass plate.
Still, in these moments,
he finds some respite,
for he sees dusk approaching
and he's grown fond of night.

Poems and Prose #21: Origin

There but for
the grace of God we go,
and there but for
our God-designed minds
goes the creator's
malleable presence.

Melancholy Merriment

It's that time of year again: the time when Jack Frost begins nibbling at noses, families gather around trees ornamented with multicolored bits and bobs, and time-worn holiday tunes play from any device capable of emitting sound waves.

And, of course, according to prevailing wisdom, it's the time of the year when a large number of people decide to snuff out their own lives (though, apparently, according to the CDC, this is a myth).

"The Santa hat, it does nothing..."

As I've grown older, I've noticed myself becoming more somber around this time of year, although I do prefer the chillier months on the calendar. Recently, I've been pondering the reasons why that is, and I've managed to boil my December malaise down to a couple of points.

First, like a lot of people, I don't have fond memories of my childhood. That's not to say that there aren't a few good experiences to be dug up from that period. I cherish the times that I and my brothers spent growing up, playing video games together, learning how to program computers, and enjoying the late '80s and early '90s pop culture, among other things.

Overall, though, it was an unpleasant life I lived, both at home and at school. My mother's mental problems would cause her to scream at people that weren't there for hours on end, day and night. Then, when I got to school, I had extreme anxiety, coupled with severe paranoia, that made it extremely difficult for me to socialize or form any kind of friendships whatsoever. I often had trouble even speaking at all to my fellow classmates and teachers, which led me to be labeled as the mythical "quiet one," a label that's stuck with me well into adulthood.

Considering that I had basically detached my mind from reality (as a defense mechanism, perhaps), this behavior isn't really surprising, but it did lead me into some bad habits that I've still yet to rid myself of completely. I continue to work on these problems, but it's becoming more and more apparent as the years wear on that I will probably never be able to fully integrate myself into the social fabric, for better or worse. I've accepted this, but it's a hard pill to swallow sometimes.

Now, all this isn't to say that I blame my parents for any of these difficulties. I'm aware that my parents are human beings and have faults just like any other human. The whole scenario was shitty, and I'm not really sure if there was a better way for it to have been handled. These background details are meant merely to underpin my reasoning for the purposes of this article.

Seeing as how a huge part of the holiday season is meeting with your family and spending time together, waxing nostalgic, it's no wonder that I'd feel at least somewhat sour around this time. Thinking about these past family events seems only to bring up unpleasant memories that I'd rather cover in dirt and bury in the backyard of my mind. These aren't things I want to laud and get misty-eyed over as I raise a glass to toast.

Secondly, in America, Christmas is all about purchasing things. Of course, lots of people will say that's not true, that the holidays are all about love and kindness and giving (and insert feel-good concept here). But that's really just a cover (a wrapping paper, perhaps), as far as I can see. Christmas as it stands now is about buying gifts, period. Watch television and you'll see commercial after commercial reminding you that you only have X number of days remaining to purchase things for your loved ones - the more expensive these gifts are, the better. Don't have money and can't afford to buy gifts? Well, then, you're just a Scrooge and/or you lack the stern moral fiber to be considered part of society.

This second point is something that's resonated with me more recently, as I've found myself in financial pain time and time again. It's obvious that our society's foundation is capital and the movement thereof. Thus, if you don't have a lot of it and you don't spend a lot of it, you basically don't exist. You have no voice, you have no political power, and society as a whole, frankly, would be better off without you clinging to its gleaming frame. To put it bluntly: being poor sucks, but being poor during Christmastime really sucks.

This long-winded diatribe wasn't meant to show that I've got some keen insight into something no one else has seen, but merely to describe some feelings I've found welling up within my mind in the recent past.

Here's to a merrier January.

Poems and Prose #20: Currency

Dollars crinkled,
  crumpled, wet,
I pick the lint off
  and pay my debt.

And now, my pockets
  loose and free,
I leap from the ledge,
  to flutter, to flee.