More ways than one

↑ HindaRochel

Sun, Jan 16 2011, 1:27 pm

Okay, all have the same title.
The first is a haiku 3/5/3 syllabification (which from my reading seems to be what is preferred now-a-days) the second a regular poem and the third a short sketch. I think there is another word for that which may be preferable.

The Aged Hippie

his long hair
crown white, brown, gold curl
rules his years
************************

His hair a yardstick for his years,
white on his crown ending in a curl of gold
tight against his breast,
as if to keep, bound and safe
memories of his past.

He brings a bottle to his lips,
curls his mouth against tight its mouth
not wanting to spill a drop
then raises the bottle up to sip,
his hands shaking, the weight too much...

behind his dark glasses his eyes
plead for what is lost
health,vigor,love.
He blinks. I turn away
the sun slips behind a cloud
and the shadows come.

*******************************************************************************************

One of those days. More and more of them it seems lately. So much of nothing going right that I can't decide if G-d's forgotten about me or hates me. I'm tired. Too tired to read. To tired to do anything
but let my eyes float about the bus, not really thinking. Patterns on the wall from the shadows,
a child's cry, someone talking much too loudly for privacy and comforts sake. Close my eyes to rest but
but there is too much going on there to rest...eyes open. Drift around seeing nothing.

A man gets on and sits down, opposite my seat but on the other side of where I'd be sitting if I were across the aisle-and my inner judge snorts. One of those. An old hippie. Trying to be young forever, with the big sunglasses, a stupid t-shirt, faded denim jeans and the long hair---his hair graded and shades all the colors of his past from the white of his crown down to the yellow-gold tip. I turn away, try not to stare, but my eyes come back to their target, pulled that way. Does he know I'm staring?

But he stares straight ahead at nothing, lost in his own thoughts, lost in his own pain---Positioned as we are there is no hiding from me---I can see his eyes through the sides of his sunglasses. We ride. I trail
my eyes around and away from him but I can't resist. Before long I'm back to him again.

He's got a plastic bag on his lap. Everyone carries one it seems, and from the bag he pulls out a two liter soda bottle filled with water from a bag and unscrews the cap--- another ubiquitous sights, those water bottles; reuse and reuse again and again. His mouth curls around the bottle, his lips wrinkling into a tight circle,and I think, he lacks teeth! Then he lifts the bottle, his hands shaking, as if the weight of two liters were much too much for his arms to handle; he can't even raise them very high but quickly, arms still shaking he sets the bottle down again into his lap, screws back on the cap and puts it back in the bag. His eyes turn toward the front again, staring at nothing, seeing nothing but what was and won't be again.

The sun disappears for a moment, hiding behind a cloud or did we pass under a bridge? A trick of the mind maybe It doesn't matter,the sun is back, a momentary darkening of the world and the brightness is back. I watch the shadows play on the bus walls again, stare straight ahead of me and try and think about nothing.

↑ mummiedearest

Sun, Jan 16 2011, 4:50 pm

HindaRochel wrote:

my first thought:

a hippie over age 30?! far out, man...

I can't really critique haikus. I love the descriptive power in the second poem and the story. I can totally see the aged hippie. and I can totally relate to staring ahead and trying to think about nothing. (apparently that's what ipods were invented for. down with ipods!)