2007-12-27 
 

penguin poetry

Christmas was crazy hectic and rather wonderful all at the same time. More on that at a later date.

Today, if you dare, experience something I found up in the attic in a box full of flotsam and jetsam from my teenage years that I've been trying to clean up. I'm pretty sure given the strata that I found this particular piece that I would've been about 16 or 17.

A good friend calls similar ramblings that he's found in his own archives bad teenage poetry. I'm pretty sure this fits into that category, but it makes me realize that I have little memory of exactly where my head was at during this point in my life.

I look as the haze of summer rises off of the sea;
the waves ripple onto the steaming sand.

A boat full of penguins lands at the wharf,
they waddle to the beach and play in the hot white sand.

The king penguin lets forth a roar,
and a great whale comes and spouts a geyser of snow.

I look as the arctic wasteland forms around me.
The penguins play in the snow as icy water ripples into nowhere.

Was this a metaphor for my life at the time, or was I simply dreaming of air conditioning on a super hot day? More importantly, did you need to read that? Probably not, but now I can safely discard the decades old pink napkin that I originally wrote it on. (And that does tell you something about where my head is at these days.)

Labels: dose of mikey, memory lane, writing

* posted by me at 10:11 AM

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