Pen on paper. Sometimes I curse learning
those 26, curse that pen on paper.
If you say I’m a writer, I’ll slap you.
Just smelling that pen on paper
makes me queasy, makes my hands shake.
Don’t trust anyone claiming to write original.
Blame the alphabet, blame the ego that
all us opposable thumbs possess, just
don’t trust words on paper.
The narrator lies. The pen knows only one path.
It’s all been done before; there are only so many
combinations possible.
For some reason, I can’t stop reading Himalayan books, adventurous accounts of men and women who have conquered the highest highs on this planet. I needed to jot this down now~ hoping it will lead to a more full-fledged poem. let me know your thoughts!
Upon Reading Annapurna
somehow the ocean child in me
has been consumed by mountains
striking blue glacier passes
towering ice faces
impossible crevasses and
threats of avalanche
Annapurna, a beauty I’ll never know,
doesn’t whisper or whimper
Annapurna roars her mind’s will
imposes all in her frosted shadow
captures us blasphemous ocean fools
and lifts our flat horizon
straight up to the moon.
We’ve all but forgotten the heartache
jon
cause life just is–
the days dwindle from when I spent
warm evenings with you,
the weeks slip and slide
and before long
I won’t have a good clear picture
of your face
only a haze from something that was
so overwhelming once
to see our best friends carry
that heavy casket
to see only pictures lining the room
to have the unspoken
hanging heavy fear that
we won’t remember you
jon,
I still have your photo on my desk
our triumphant return from the Keys
in your broken car
I remember your eyebrow raise
your voice laughing
“shut up jody”
Poetry by JC Snyder 