Under the Umbrella

This poem uses lines with several different meanings, at times. Something fun I do with all my poems these days. This one just has a little more than usual.

Stay calm under the bombshell of an umbrella (nebula)

Let the glitter splatter splashing jasmine asterisks onto a hollow sky

Let the shattered glass slide through the fingers of the night

As malleable little mirrors or snow globes

Let the little pieces of heaven reign down upon its dreamers

Servants of the moon take a spoon and scoop the eyes from these strange faces

Cradle the form of every droplet faucet fossilizing the horizon

Maybe the puzzle is more beautiful shattered

Maybe I am more beautiful sad, more poet, sad

Than I ever would be living a utopia

As if I was born to crumble, like a mountain

Like the foundation of a skyscraper

A fountain of insurmountable dreams

Just so there was something to build from the wreckage of perfection

I’m fond of déjà vu

I keep living the same day, the same life

Watching the same views casting shadows

I may be living on a suburban battleground

There will be more houses tomorrow

There will be more condos, more apartments

There will be more aimless lives that miss their shot and never bullseye

People will live and die by bullet-pointlessly like their running in circles

Trying to sculpt some ideal out of a shapeless world

People will fail to grasp a firm understanding, will never get a grip

Always empty-handed, life slipping through their fingers

I do not believe in paradise, there is nothing more beautiful than a broken world

Cold people will try to do a hot take, or spitfire

Others will shoulder melting hearts made glaciers that won’t be here in 50 years

It makes no difference to me

Nobody will be hearing them as anything but an echo eventually

The sounds of one’s voice grow more distant over time

Get left behind in the sands of another hour-glass half empty

I’ve always been full of myself, I am all I am

And I don’t intend to pool together under summer days

Can’t get down-pouring out my spirits to raise the devil-like a cold glass,

Exorcising forked tongues for every knife in my back

Turning the tableware my saving grace is an empty seat in my inelegant room

Sitting this one out on my own this time

And I could rhyme and reason with insanity as if such a conversation would speak to you

Like you haven’t heard it all before from another

Like you haven’t lost your mind with what you've found

Or given a piece of it to someone like a present-day

And maybe putting a good word in for me is a run-on life sentence

Down to the letter, every period in time

Interconnected with the same old story, taking cover to cover up the past like an old memory

Reading faces like that of a watch, the time of my life is in the (second)-hands’ of the clock

And this heartbeat which flatlines suicide notes in every bar is what makes me tick

Hit the high notes when they snort silver-linings but lack a heart of gold

Or anything precious

A few rocks will leave you stoned by those who find a diamond in the rough

When you’re in the ring, band together your fingers into one money shot

 

Even when you’re lifestream is a riverbed you can still flow like an ocean

Lost at sea like a beached whale

Head underwater, with every wave of the flag tiding itself over onto tomorrow

You can’t bail out of existence, capsizing is just another way to drown in sorrow

At the drop of a hat, with all the drip of a rapper

Or through the lens of a whitewashed wallflower

Bleed brilliantly

So that the colour cascades and scatterbrains itself like you’ve lost your mind

How else will you stay sane in life’s downpour?

Author's Note

I promise I read every single review, and I generally will reply to them. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be happy to hear anything you feel needs sharing. Whenever you write on my shortcomings or breakthroughs, or the themes of my poems, or share ideas and friendly criticism, it decides my next poem to an extent. I will listen, learn and be thankful. And 99% of the time, you'll get a reply unless you're trolling me.

Reviews

[Anastasia]

This poem is extraordinary to read. Every line as you said had beauty and more than a meaning and I was just reading and reading again. Like,
"Let the shattered glass slide through the fingers of the night."

Existence and its chaos and meaninglessness seems to get to the poet who finds beauty in a melancholic state. And this line illustrates that beautifully again: "And this heartbeat which flatlines suicide notes in every bar is what makes me tick".

Yet the poet knows and understands the need to go on: "You can’t bail out of existence, capsizing is just another way to drown in sorrow"

You conclude with great aplomb too. Bleed brilliantly, you say, or How else will you stay sane in life’s downpour? To me this sums up an unique outlook in life and the question of existence.

I must ask you how you think up all this. There's an ocean of brilliance here. Do share your favorite poems with me to read. I hope you are preserving all of them. Priceless pieces. Thank you.

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

I think the best way to put it is this; I love poetry. I've written hundreds of poems over the years. And I've read and heard many poems as well. It's quite a passion for me. At first I thought I was quite good when I got started, but going to poetry slams, and reading other works got me out of my shell. I realized I could also be so much more. So, I read as many poems as I could, and wrote often, until it became engraved in me. The love I have for poetry is what has kept me sane. Without poetry, I would be lost. As soon as it became a part of my life when I became first engrossed, it was a necessity. And so, eventually, I improved. I believe with effort and empathy for any subject or art, anyone can become great. But to love what you do to your hearts content, that, is something that gives a reason to continue, and push even farther. I like to think I still have a ways to go, even though I have certainly improved. With enough love and dedication for anything, I believe you can succeed. But I write for the purpose of writing. Not to win an award, or sell poetry. For me, it's the experience that feels like the award. Maybe someday, I might write a book of poetry. For now, I just want to write. I'll send you a message on some poetry you might enjoy, so you can learn as I am. Here's hoping both of us can improve.

[Anastasia]

I agree that with plain ought for poetry and with only that notion in mind can poetry be so original and a fruitful exercise. I am going through the message in detail and the poetry you have suggested and I will give you my feedback on it. Thank you very much for the guidance.

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

Anytime. Reading is so much of what goes into writing, I know it will help you improve just as it helps me.