Poetry for what it's worth

Hello happlejacks and susannas!

So I didn't get around to writing my review of Ed Brubaker's Sleeper, Season 1. In short, it was really damn good. It's like The Departed with superpowers. Creative, fun, and I should stop before I write the review.

What I did do was attend my first day of Poetry and Fiction classes, and got my first assignments. Here's the poem I wrote for a prompt asking for a description of a "thing." My thing is a tree, or more precisely the fruit of a tree I saw in a dream. A little lame I know to say "I saw this is in a dream," but if you know anything about me, you know my dreams are more fantastic and entertaining than an acid trip could ever be. (side note: I may start up a dream journal section of this blog...)

Here's my poem, a rough draft to be edited in class Tuesday, entitled "The Light Trees"

I was walking

In the open woods

By Cortico Bay.

A low fog obscured

Distant landmarks

And civilization.

Only cricket chirps

To let me know

I wasn’t alone.

There it stood,

The Light Tree.

Tiny fist-sized bulbs,

Dozens, no

About a dozen hung from

Willow-like branches.

Each one glowed

With a pearly white

Core caged by varied

Color coats.

A red one, a purple one

A green one, a yellow one.

The hanging lights shined

Through the fog

That nearly made the branches

Unreckognizable. They looked

Like a nighttime car wreck

Suspended in mid-air.

Twelve feet off the ground.

The air around the tree was warmer

Than the damp cool air

Blowing in from the bay.

The smell of oak bark

Rotting made the fruit of the

Light Tree so much more

Seductive.

I reached up but

The tree seemed to meet me

Halfway, offering a cool pink bulb,

The one shining brightest.

It was here I found the fog didn’t

Blur the lights of the fruit,

But their brightness was milky and

Out of focus all its own.

My lips were wet.

I was salivating before I knew it.

My eyes fixated on the perfectly round form in my hands

Smooth, but dry.

A strange sensation of fear

And excitement rushed through me.

I wouldn’t wait any longer,

Thrusting the bulb fruit to my face

And tearing its soft tissue with my teeth.

Its flesh was bitter,

Unsatisfying and unexpected.

Creamy juices ran through my fingers

From the wound I had inflicted.

I lifted the fruit again, pouring the juice

Down the front of my lips,

Tasting only with the tip of my tongue.

Sweet.

Like somewhere between strawberries and

Tart apples, but juicier.

My hands trembled and

I dropped the chalice I had

Supped from. A half sphere,

Half-full, rolling on the greenest grass

I hadn’t even noticed was there.

My feet were bare, another detail I failed to note.

My toes seemed to dig into the soft soil

Under the grass.

Cool dirt sifted through my feet,

Nourishing in a way,

Like washing down my dessert

With earthy vegetables.

I felt tall and timbering.

My limbs grew weak so I stretched

Them to get blood back in my veins.

My arms were extended out high and wide,

As if I were trying to catch a planet

Falling from the sky,

That looking up now,

Was darker and mistier than

It had been before.

Suddenly I found I was

Eye to eye

With the fruits of the Light Tree.

I couldn’t step back.

I couldn’t walk away.

I would shine my own lights

Over Cortico Bay.

Tell me what you think.

Have a swell weekend.