Here I am in the land of boats and money and palms. And I’ve written enough about how alien it makes me feel. A good friend emailed me today and reminded me that I write good poems when I write for someone specific, and I’m going to do that now. I have a person in mind who needs help. I’ve offered help, all kinds, but I don’t know know if it will work. What matters to me is that I offer, willingly and with great hope, because I believe in this one. And I know that I’ve posted this before, but I’m doing it again because this one just started reading the poems:
This one is a black sheep in a family of black sheep, and I want desperately to help, somehow. Tonight I poem for Hunter.
Pack up those Blue Jeans
Listen to this. Just listen to this now, you, you in the prison of a bad homes and starving love, listen and you will hear all that you don’t like to hear. Hear everything now, my black sheep returned. Here is what you will hear: get free now of the place where you are and get you and your blue jeans to the mountains, say bye bye to the notion you have as you as the black sheep, say goodbye to your shame and strap on your blue jeans and boots, say bye bye to the angel that grips you by the ankles and goodbye to the morning that breaks your face into pieces.
The whole hope is this, that you listen now, to the rivers and rocks that call to you from the bedrock of your addictions and say goodbye to your sinking thoughts of you as black sheep and listen now to the hope. They say: surface now. Come up to the surface and breathe for a minute, just like a fish, purse your lips and get some air, just come up and get a sip of the air unsullied by anything but trees.
Whatever you try, you can’t scare me away from this help, nothing can scare me away from trying, and I know you are off the tracks but here’s the help. Here’s the help. You can take it if you want to fight the maelstrom and wrestle the dark, and leave off the shame, because we all need the help with the darknesses, just pack up your blue jeans, and wrestle back the dark till you get up to the mountains.
It’s good to write poems for specific people. I don’t know if this is any good, but I think that it might do exactly one person some good, so here. Happy whatever day it is, poemies.