Nobody Reads This Page – “Poetic Pause”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-24)

 

 

In the Icehouse home office, I have developed a ritual of writing some sort of creative document almost every day. This routine is interrupted only when there are special chores to accomplish, such as doctor visits, shopping excursions, or other projects. I liken it to being an athlete, where constant training and conditioning are needed to maintain abilities. Once, I read an author quote that urged professional wordsmiths to jot down ideas or fragments or stories, regularly. Because, he said, “It isn’t possible to write bad material all the time.” While I reckon that this appraisal is somewhat suspect as a genuine truth, I still follow his directive. Being in motion is easier when one always stays in motion.

 

Sometimes, I don’t have a tale to tell when sitting at my keyboard. So, I turn to the device of poetry as a useful conduit for expression. Simple word association or rhyming can weave together subconscious thoughts into a tapestry of art. Though I have a personal preference for making sure that my compositions have a cadence and rhythm, much like a piece of music. Often, I imagine some kind of basic melody in my head, while clicking keys. This trick helps me find a sort of natural discipline. Like having a metronome sitting on my desk.

 

A recent example appeared as I was pondering my ‘do list’ on a Saturday afternoon. With no particular direction in mind, I began to fill an empty Word document with lines of verse. What sprang from this exercise was purely experimental. A bit like ‘First Impressions’ reviews I had delivered in the past, for my guitarist cohort, Davie Allan. Something I had learned from a fellow fan named Boobie Auten, a prose wizard I met through a group on the internet dedicated to those who enjoyed the California plectrum ace’s music.

 

I let the inspiration flow freely while imagining notes being plucked on a fretboard:

 

“Up Early”

 

Up too early, joints aching and my mind wracked with doubt

A blitz of mind games, I’m going to sit this one out

Don’t need to run

Something in my past still resonates like a rock thrown from the curb

A stone strike that leaves me restless over things undeserved

No shadow from the sun

Did you think I didn’t notice

The intent of your purpose

Hey, hey, that’s not a worry to me right now

 

Limping from one point to another, still blazing motion

Depending on medicinal compounds concocting a special potion

That’s the trick

Loosely pondering that I might have died a dozen-odd years ago

But instead, I was drafted to be a backup for this carnival show

It happened too quick

Did you think I didn’t notice

The intent of your purpose

Hey, hey, that’s not a worry to me right now

 

Deep in my gut I feel the hardship of living as a chump

In a shack by the property line of a municipal dump

I didn’t fit in

I used to get teased and prodded until I lost my temper as a kid

Then the classroom would burst into laughter, when I popped my lid

It even made the teacher grin

Did you think I didn’t notice

The intent of your purpose

Hey, hey, that’s not a worry to me right now

 

Nobody thought about the fact that a walking target might grow

Into a mature man, still looking out through a dirty window

They didn’t think far ahead

But after sixty years, the bruises still haven’t healed

There’s still a tire track on my back from a bicycle wheel

When I tasted pavement with dread

Did you think I didn’t notice

The intent of your purpose

Hey, hey, that’s not a worry to me right now

 

Not looking for pity, don’t mistake this rapid confession

It’s more like a psychologist conducting a counseling session

Eyes closed as I recall

If I said these hard things out loud you might be afraid

So, I write them instead on a yellowed notebook page

And leave it in a garbage can down the hall

Did you think I didn’t notice

The intent of your purpose

Hey, hey, that’s not a worry to me right now

 

Cracking across my skin like a razor strop, smooth and stinging

That’s what it feels like to revisit the cadence of a telephone ringing

When I had fallen down drunk

For that moment when the chemicals flooded my bloodstream

I actually passed over into REM sleep and perchance, to dream

Delivered from this funk

Did you think I didn’t notice

The intent of your purpose

Hey, hey, that’s not a worry to me right now

 

No excuses please, I don’t care why you made the choice

To dribble and laugh when I sat there with my broken toys

That moment is gone

Yes, I can still think about how it made me feel to be dirty and ditched

A lonely loser, a downtrodden son-of-a-bitch

But I’ve moved along

Did you think I didn’t notice

The intent of your purpose

Hey, hey, that’s not a worry to me right now

 

As I put down my pen, complete is the last cycle of a summer day

And I realize with regret that the season won’t soon return this way

But that’s not something I can fix

Better is a trip through the surface of a looking glass

Into a world on the other side, where timeless topics come to pass

And devils get their kicks

Did you think I didn’t notice

The intent of your purpose

Hey, hey, that’s not a worry to me right now

 

After finishing this poem, I had to sit silently for a moment to comprehend the yield from a reader’s perspective. Spoken aloud, even sung acapella, it resonated with the coffeehouse vibe I had been seeking. Perhaps like a jam session with the Velvet Underground, long after midnight, at a smoky, seedy New York club.

 

There were no such pretentions at work in my own home, of course. Nothing grand or notable about living in a rural community of mobile homes. Yet I was satisfied to be busy with the craft. Still connected and in service. Especially since retiring in 2016, I feel that working at my computer is ‘earning my keep.’ When I have finished brainstorming for the day, then I can relax and drink and socialize with neighbors in my blue-collar oasis.

 

Anything less would be unthinkable. A sin for which no absolution could be given.