Poem Power

Yesterday on Facebook I encountered one of those chain posts from a friend, but this one was different. I think it’s called Occupy Facebook with Poetry – or something like that. It had a purposed I admired, there are no catches and participation is 100% optional and not thrust upon you. And it was arts related, specifically poetry, which I love as a writer and lyricist. The post said:

“The idea is to occupy Facebook with #poetry. Whoever “likes” this post will be given a poet and has to post a poem, or a part of a poem, by that poet, along with this message. I was given NAME OF POET by OF FRIEND who brought it to my attention. So, I liked their post and was assigned the poet Derek Mahon. I had never heard of him, but I was excited to learn about a new poet. I ended up finding this amazing poem, which coincidentally had similar themes to A MidSummer Night’s Dream and the parody I had written. The poem was beautiful, smart, thoughtful, and witty. I love it! For your enjoyment I’ll post it below.

“The Dream Play”

What night-rule now about this haunted grove?
The spirits have dispersed, the woods
faded to grey from midnight blue
leaving a powdery residue,
night music fainter, frivolous gods
withdrawing, cries of yin and yang,
discords of the bionic young;
cobweb and insects, hares and deer,
wild strawberries and eglantine,
dawn silence of the biosphere,
amid the branches a torn wing
— what is this enchanted place?
Not the strict groves of academe
but an old thicket of lost time
too cool for school, recovered space
where the brain yields to nose and ear,
folk remedy and herbal cure,
old narratives of heart and hand,
and a dazed donkey, starry eyed,
with pearls and honeysuckle crowned,
beside her naked nibs is laid.
Wild viruses, Elysian fields —
our own planet lit by the fire
of molten substance, constant flux,
hot ice and acrobatic sex,
the electric moth-touch of desire
and a new vision, a new regime
where the white blaze of physics yields
to yellow moonlight, dance and dream
induced by what mind-altering drug
or rough-cast magic realism;
till morning bright with ant and bug
shines in a mist of glistening gism,
shifting identities, mutant forms,
angels evolved from snails and worms.
~~ Derek Mahon

After going through this exercise I was inspired to write my own. Not to become a song, just for the sake of writing a poem. It had been a while since I have written that way. Lots of my friends do poetry, spoken word, and open mics, so time to re-give it a whirl.  So this was the result:

“Push Past Burn Out”

I can feel stress in my face
That I didn’t know existed

Must I have eternal exhaustion
And neck pain?

It goes on regardless
And for days
No matter how I twist and turn
No matter how comfy my bed may seem, whether my mind is restless with nightmares or good dreams

But as long as I have balance
Have happiness, have friends,
Even among work and giving back
I can make time for my passions

It’s all worth it.

Now who wants to give me a massage?
~~ Dara A. Gold

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