Three Poems 1/26/23
Three poems by yours truly
Hello. This is a collection of three poems, all of which are written by me, Zephyr F. Sosin. I know it’s pretentious, hell it’s pretentious to have a blog in the first place. However, that’s sort of what I am nowadays. Pretentious Zephyr. That’s me.
Anyway, the first poem is called Hopeful. I chose that title because it sounded like the best title for a really depressing poem. I find that most of what I write is fairly sad, which is not exactly an accurate reflection of myself as a person. I’m generally quite happy. I find that often times most depressing writers I meet are generally quite happy people. I’m against that tortured artist sort of bullshit.
Hopeful Z.F. Sosin 2023 Theoretically, I could ride a unicycle But I never tried Never had a unicycle Or the will to ride one I was once thinking about a group of lawyers On a plane that exploded Stranded somewhere in the wilderness A jury weighing in on territorial battles Between the snakes and honey bears And the defendant eating a human leg The sailor waits for a car to come But the faucet is dry And the sea is empty So the car never comes I sometimes think I'm the worst rocket scientist out there All my equations are wrong And all the other scientists see me as lesser If I could just prove to them... When I get home I act friendly and cordial But when I finally get some time alone In the shower I keep hoping today is the day needles will spew from the showerhead Sometimes the times tick backwards Normally when you're around So I remember them The moments I promised I wouldn't waste But they were all squandered And look where that got me I think you're out tonight And I'm in With only the water in my glass to make me feel stupid
Here’s a funny story. I was walking down the street a few days ago, and I could have sworn I saw an old childhood friend of mine. And we both looked at each other acknowledging that we were in fact acquaintances, yet we walked right on by each other without exchanging a word. It was nice seeing an old face though. I just thought you would find that amusing. This next poem is about the past. It’s called The Beaches of Nebraska.
The Beaches of Nebraska Zephyr F. Sosin In the twilight hours of the lost days In the potholes, now watery mirrors Rained on by the rusted metal of bicycles abandoned summers ago Standing about On the beaches of nebraska Taking one last breath of her old life Before entering one anew Entreched in a shivering fear She slowly lowers her foot to the floor Her inner voices and fears coalesce into some sort of noise Like a screaming television static Eden simply drown out by the pain of this catastrophic cacophany Beautifuly sculpted roads paved for this magical moment As the wheels burn away like a rollercoaster All the while through the upside-down corkscrews And hard bumps and turns They can make a good man a wreck An omnipotent track For the casual thrill-seeker A step away Just one step away
I remember writing that one. I had an obsession with telling the truth because I felt like I was lying too much. Everything in that poem is true. I mean it isn’t but it feels like it might be.
The truth is an odd thing, and in retrospect maybe this poem is a bit of a bore. I should lie more, it’s more interesting. But everyone hates a liar so fuck me I guess. Anyways, this next one is called Civil War. I wanted to end on a lighter note.
Civil War Zephyr Sosin 2022 I like it when I'm asleep In the corner chair Laid like a dying soldier In my best friend's arms Reality flying in and out Like a slow-motion pendulum What I assume to be dreams Interspersed between warm thinking And occasional glances around the room An old paperback book Laid unopened upon my chest The absolute weight and pain of life Worn down to the dull edge Upon my sleeping body The general tries to move a soldiers body Leave the frontlines Alive if lucky Coughing blood The soldier's eyes slowly dissolve into marbles In the comfort of his impromptu deathbed Laid in the arms of his best friend At this point I am awakened by my brother Who is hungry and demands food I begrudgingly oblige Procuring a bowl and preparing cereal three twenty-five in the afternoon I call it a silver breakfast After it is done and dealt with I return to my chair And return to the ever available slumber The absolute peace Of drifting The general wipes a small tear from his left eye As he hears of the death of the soldier It was the last tear he cried For he became so desensitized soon afterwards He didn't even try to hide when they came after him
That poem, believe it or not, is about a chair I like to take naps in. I don’t get those people who don’t nap. I mean, what’s not to love? It’s damn refreshing. It’s peaceful. Maybe some people just don’t understand peace. It’s not my fault.
I am inspired to take a nap, and I mean that in the best of ways. Your poetry is wonderful.