I was having one of those introspective moments after looking at pics of friends, and I, in a fit of whimsy, tweeted, "Sometimes I feel homesick for homes I never had." The line stuck with me, and so I wrote it into a poem. I'm not that pleased with it, but it has its moments.
Sometimes I get homesick for homes I never hadI think that "Sometimes I feel homesick for homes I never had" deserves a better poem, and if you have the guts, see if you can give it its due. In fact, in the spirit of the old textFIGHT glory days, I'm going to turn it into a competition. You have until next Friday to post your link in the comments, and I'll make up a voting poll to see who will come out on top.
only tasted different lives different moms different dads
You and I with babies all around
He and I with music singing sound
homesick for your smile
homesick for your touch
the only home we shared a memory
of dreams that we could live in harmony
idle talk fantasy whispers in the dark
conjured up this long lost tomorrow never come
the shadows of our lives betray what never was
and the power of those intimacies shake foundations
Is home a promise fulfilled
then unfulfilled homesick girl
The winner gets to pick their favorite line from their entry poem to turn into the next challenge.
So, deadline is Friday, March 4th. Your challenge is to write a poem using the line "Sometimes I feel homesick for homes I never had."
FIGHT!
EDIT: A reader has pointed out that the line in my poem is different than the line in the challenge. Use either one. Just write!
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3 comments:
Sometimes I get homesick for homes
I never had
the scent of wild roses in the kitchen
Workboots placed neatly by the door
naps in the sun on a screened-in porch
Sometimes I get home
sick
for homes I never had
waited somewhere
I never was
coming home
Sometimes
I get homesick
Four homes I never had:
a beach house with thick towels flapping on the deck rail
the dome built into the side of a hill, clover-scented inside and out
sandy-floored desert tent
one of a row of houses with slate roofs and a stuffy attic full of dress forms and discarded manuscripts
Sometimes I get homesick for homes I never had
Homey don't poetry.
Homey did this instead:
Time travel ruined everything.
Did you walk into a room and forget why you went? It's an adjustment. In the new timeline, you didn't need to be there. You shouldn't notice. None of us should.
But we do.
It's a quantum thing. We sometimes see the layer-states on the other side of this probability stream.
It's not because you're getting older. It's because more time travel happens than ever now.
Did you ever wake up, roll over and the person you expected to see there isn't there? It's an adjustment. In the new timeline, you didn't keep your mouth shut that night when you were drunk and you had that argument, and you said that thing you shouldn't have said. He isn't there anymore.
You shouldn't remember him there. None of us should.
But we do.
It's a quantum thing. We sometimes see the layer-states on the other side of this probability stream.
It's not because you made poor decisions. It's because the world needed saving, and sacrifices were made.
Did you ever wake up on the train and realize that you're going home to your apartment? You could have sworn you had a house on an acreage just outside of town, and a kid, and a dog. But you don't, and you don't know why you ever thought you did.
You shouldn't want these things. None of us should.
But we do.
It's not because your life isn't a storybook, and reality makes all kinds of demands and forces all kinds of choices, and sometimes it doesn't go as planned.
Sometimes I feel homesick for homes I never had. Sometimes I stay home sick for feelings I can't stand.
Time travel ruined everything.
Andrew (aka Grymm the Pleasant) e-mailed me his entry all the way from fuckin' China. The Great Firewall blocks access to blogspot blogs, but he heard the call and has answered the challenge:
When following the footsteps across the river
When snuffing the lights out in the warehouse
When standing sentinel against the legions
When choosing the toy to leave the burning house
Sometimes I get homesick for homes I never had
Sometimes I stand clawed with the Silver Key
Sometimes I am gestalt, the sentinel and legion both
Sometimes I wake dreaming another dream
Ten thousand they come, or perhaps sixteen billion
Time and time again the choices fall and arise
Twelve links like gleipnir all strain and still hold
The final blind steps are through all possibility
The flash that draws the dividing line
By doubtless earthquake is it done
But though the legions are all gone
Nothing but perception has changed
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