The Death of Laughter
It fills me with a warm
glowing radiance. I can’t help,
but to smile and laugh
especially when it’s my own son.
My own flesh.
I can’t resist that laughs power
nothing can match it.
Seeing him ride his Red Bike
on his own for the first time,
a smile stretched across his face, and
with laughter in his heart.
Riding past the big oak tree I used to ride past
I will never forget that image
moments before his laughter was silenced.
The Green Car sped by
and I looked away for a moment.
A robin sat on a limb of the big oak tree
It suddenly flew away startled
by a sharp sound.
I turned and the Green Car
was casually driving away.
I’ll never know who
that driver was or why
they drove away.
A crumpled tangled red mass
laid in the middle of the road.
I ran towards it,
my heart pounding,
I saw nothing but shades of red
the shades of red, bright
and dark, mixing together.
I picked up his crumpled and broken body
and I ran, but I could barely see.
I buried my head into his chest
I can’t stop from screaming
And I realize that all laughter has died.
That One Day in Summer
That one day in summer
when we went swimming at the lake.
Do you remember?
The sun was setting,
those purple and orange colors
reflecting on the water,
and you were wearing that blue bikini.
You know the one.
I just swam in the cool water cracking jokes
out of nervousness while I watched you
sitting on the dock
I told myself today would be the day,
now was the time,
there was no more waiting.
I would finally say what I had meant
to say for years.
But I didn’t.
I just watched you talking to that other guy
That other guy with the red shorts and the smirk
and I pushed my feelings deeper.
That’s when I first realized
I didn’t deserve you.
3 comments:
You're not a bad poet at all. The imagery is so clear and startling, esp the lines in the End of Laughter poem. I can SEE the red bike, the startled bird, the green car. And unfortunately, the body in the street. I think you captured the sights of this experience so clearly. I don't get a REALLY strong emotion from it, though, except a sense of the father's pride and then loss. Maybe you could beef that part up...
But still, very good.
For non-fiction, what if you wrote about that girl? I'm assuming the second poem is based on a personal experience...if not...hmm. Sorry. No ideas for ya at this moment.
Thank You I'm glad somebody is reading this is there still a creative writing club at NHS? I'll think about the non-fiction I just really don't like talking about myself very much and not comfortable with it in general I can't wait to get to the fiction section
Yes, we still have a Creative Writing club. We're meeting every Tuesday now during STAR.
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