Video poem:

Photos

A small rectangular photo of my Grandma Clara and I.

I am four years old, curled up on her lap in her favorite rocking chair.

A picture of my Grandma Daphne and I.

I am six, standing next to her at the table on Thanksgiving.

A snapshot of my Grandma Sharon and I.

I am eight, sitting at her kitchen table on Christmas, with the scarf she’s knitted me.

I wonder what picture would come to mind if I knew my Grandma Doris.

Where would we be?

How old would I be?

I clasp her necklace around my neck every morning,

Thinking of her when she wore it, the gold heart resting on her collar.

I try to imagine that she looked like me when she was younger.

I try to picture her as a teenager.

I think of my grandpa, sitting next to me,

Too old now to recognize the necklace of his wife.

I want her back,

Even though she was never there.

I want to hand her the necklace,

And thank her for letting me borrow it.

I want to sit with her on the porch looking over the water at her house,

Side by side on the couch,

Smiling towards my Grandpa as he snaps a picture of us,

For me to keep.

Are Meanings Necessary?

The epitome of irrelevance,

What is it?

A sinister bumblebee?

Crystalline daylight?

Isn’t anything made-up irrelevant?

Serendipitous madness,

Murmuring gladness.

What is a human

Made out of cumin?

What is irrelevant are the meanings,

People believe each word is an imposter,

For something bigger

Hidden behind big words and rhymes.

Meant to sound important and meaningful.

But they mean nothing more than

A Dorian elephant,

A grassy tryst.

If I we’re reading the works of a renowned poet

Or even anyone who seemed confident in what they were writing

I’d think the nonsense had a deep

Unspoken meaning.

It’s okay for a poem to have words put together like

Mysterious Singaporean

Maybelline lassie

Bumping locks.

We’re all just human,

No poet needs to write with meaning.

A poem can mean nothing less than funny words,

Put together onto paper.

They can even be as meaningless as a

Veggie tragedy.

The Inevitability of Becoming a Senor Citizen

I am afraid of age.

I’ve watched my grandparents turn

Arthritic and dull,

Numb.

Unable to get up on their own,

Go to the bathroom,

Answer the phone.

I do not want that life.

When I was younger

I used to tell people

I never wanted to live past forty.

I dread the time where my skin will become wrinkly

And my bones sore.

I do not want to become tired at 6 p.m.

Nor have to wear glasses to be able to read words on a page

I hate the idea of my children putting me in a nursing home,

Or not having my parents and family around.

I like my skin soft and un-speckled

I like staying up until 11 because I have energy

I like having my parents take care of me

Watch over me,

Take care of me,

Guide me.

I have a special connection to the elderly,

People always tell me I do.

I’ve wondered why,

But now I think I know.

I can sympathize.

I pity them.

I understand how awful it would be in their place

Eating pureed food,

Watching TV day in and day out,

Nurses taking care of you,

Everyone you know and loved

Gone.

I saw my Grandpa Lee,

A very agile and energized old man,

Breathless as he moved boxes,

Into his new home.

Every few times he lifted something

He had to sit on the couch to rest.

I can’t take the knowledge that that is as good as it gets

At that age.

In elementary school,

One friend asked my group

“Would you rather die young in your sleep,

or old by a painful murder”

Everyone was stuck,

Unable to choose their answer.

They wanted long lives,

But they wanted to die peacefully.

Everyone was shocked when I answered immediately

“Die young of course.”

Surprised by the fact that I didn’t care that I’d live a short life.

I am young now,

I do not know how I will think in the future,

If I will find a job,

A husband,

Or have children

That will make old age worth it.

Although almost everyone does.

But for now,

I want energy,

Freedom,

Independence,

Family,

Memories.

But most of all,

I want youth.

After searching awhile for a suitable poetry journal I found My Favorite Bullet. Initially the name intimidated me a little, but after reading a poem or two I was intrigued. The website offered a long list of poems to choose from by over ten different poets, all of who's writing styles were similar.

The first poem I came across was "And may be unbearable" by Gary Lundy which spoke of what everyone's lives comes down to. I found that the structure and wording he used was very similar to the short-lined, sometimes confusing poems of Chris Martin. For example:

Smoke through

the open window

ink stain

on new briefcase

dried out glue stick

these particulars

like cut outs

of unimportant figures

from fashion magazines

His listing of thoughts tie in Martins style with bleak images that evoke what are possibly feelings of frustration. All the ideas and feelings he speaks of comes down to the idea of his frustration at the fact that life lacks true meaning.

I then read "Magic" by Carrie A. Reilley which like "And may be unbearable", was also pretty dim. The poems speaks of how the narrators grandfather used to make "magic" when she was a little kid by using a magnifying glass to light paper and ash on fire. She transitions the image to her brothers urn, holding his ashes, and makes clear to the auditor that she yearns for her grandfather to use his magic with fire and ashes to make something of them again. The story is very powerful, and through it being told she, like the other poem, uses the same short lines as Chris Martin, although in a lot less confusing way. 

Generally the vibe and tone I observed in My Favorite Bullet was dim and bleak. Most of the poems follow short lines similar to Chris Martins with listing images and ideas. Even the poems I read that could be seen as neutral had a darker message buried behind it. For example in the poem "LA Trendy", Matt Randall talks about the idiosyncrasies performed by the average person living in LA like trying to look "cosmopolitan" and eating "sushi and tempura". Although the poem could be taken as simply a commentary on people living in LA, in the end it is drawn up in a way that makes them sound fake and lifeless. I don't know if My Favorite Bullet was meant to be a collection of darker poems, but that's definitely how I took it. Still, that isn't to say i didn't enjoy the poems or find them good. In fact, I found most of the poems to be very moving and I appreciated that there was a clear message to each one. 

The poem "Football" by Louis Jenkins shows repetition of words like "I've" to start phrases or "The same skin, but not the same". They repetition offers a type of beat/ hint of rhyme, even though there isn't any.

I really loved the poem "The Afterlife", narrated by the dead looking back at their lives and feeling unaccomplished, told as if they had just seen an unsatisfactory movie. It's often something I think about. That is, the purpose of my life and what it will even all come down to. The poem reminds me of my neighbor who I am very close to who will be turning 108 this year. She often says things like "I should have died long ago, I'm not sure if this is worth living," which makes me very sad and worried for my own life. The questions and statements made in the poem really trigger the sentiments people have towards their lives, even people as young as myself.

I found that Jenkins poems were all very different and didn't have any general theme. The poem "The Fishing Lure" differed a lot from the others because it had a humorous, joking tone while ones like "The Afterlife" spoke more of a serious conceptual matter. The poem "Some Things to Think About" simply spoke about the questions people unfamiliar with snow and cold whether would often ask about clothing. Poems like that were difficult to uncover. What meaning could be behind whether you wear heavy duty mittens or gloves? However, I enjoy that he samples different tones and topics rather than sticking to one general form or idea. He offers a variety of poems that induce different emotions and thoughts, which kept reading each one interesting and unique.

Japan

"It'll be so foreign we'll become closer as a family."

The first thing I glimpse when I step off the plane is a Starbucks.

I wanted traditional green tea in a bowl.

Not in a plastic cup like at home.

Why is there a McDonalds

Right across the street from a fresh sushi restaurant,

The fresh shrimp swimming in the window.

It doesn't belong there.

Through the narrow streets of Shibuya

all I see is H&M and Gap.

I can get those at home.

Is the world slowly becoming the same?

What about 20, 30, 40 years from now?

Motives have switched from appreciation to greed.

From preservation to money.

They need to change,

Or we will all blend into one.

The Big Decision

"It's all about how it feels to you."

"Could you see yourself here?"

"Did you like it?"

"Are the people ones you could be friends with?"

How should I know

From a 45 minute tour?

How can I say I'd be happy there,

When all I really learned

Is that they offer a "multitude of majors"?

I change my mind every week,

of where I want to go.

College to me is like an outfit.

Some days I want to wear blue,

others I feel like red.

"Where do you want to go?"

"What are you leaning towards?"

I don't know.