it's a plush chair to sit in
the comfy spot under the bridge
the paperbacks you'll never read
they are all you'll ever need
it's a dirty coin to pick up
if someone will make change
collecting the odds and ends
dissecting the fads and trends
it's a plastic toy dump truck
the child would never grow up
a sad reminder of the past
but happy days are here at last
it's a ticket stub from a show
back when the band played cheap
wrote your name with your young blood
before you saw the grave was dug
a soiled scrap of twisted paper
the thoughts that came and went
the missing moments that didn't come back
from the void where they were sent
a rusty can, a ripped-up shirt
a soiled mattress in the dirt
a pickle jar and broken sticks
the thoughts you lost and found again
now you forget what they meant
Your humble blogger has been scribbling words of varying degrees of coherence in countless spiral-bound notebooks for many years. This is one small sample of them.
5 comments:
Wow, Matt! I like it. I must admit, I'm not sure I really get it, but that's what makes poetry awesome.
I really like this poem. I don't really have any idea what it means but I think I do because created an image and an emotion. In my opinion that is what poetry is all about. Rock on.
It's just some words I scribbled in a notebook years ago after a few G&Ts. Kind of mopey. I just made up the title when I posted this. But I'm glad y'all liked it, thanks.
As far as what it means, I could make up some crap about it being an existential meditation on aging and mortality, seen through the metaphorical vehicles of random detritus and self-symbolic talismans of the postmodern age. But I'd rather people just discover their own "meanings" in it, and leave it at that.
Love the poem. Love your interpretation. Give us more.
I think I understood the poem better than your explanation! :)
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