Three found poems

Guess what I found in my Gmail inbox? A few old poems, back from when I took a poetry class at OSU. These are about 3-4 years old (plus some minor edits I did just now). I used to send things to myself when I needed to print them off in the computer labs, and lucky for me now that I did, because I'm finding all kinds of backups from things on my old computer. The two that I think are worth anything, I'm posting here.

The first one's original title was, "Calliope Rising" which, in my now-aged wisdom, I realize is appallingly pretentious. Renamed it simply, "Talk", but I don't feel much one way or the other for a title like that. Any suggestions?

Talk

Sing, Muse, of the Urban Myth!

Of the swarming, of the syruped air

(Friend of a friend of a friend of a --)

I forgot I was a skeptic

We drank tequila and lime

Your tongue touched your teeth,

and told a story the length of my spine

Our eyes danced the tango,

Yours believed mine

It echoed, like a whale song

Once upon a time

a time

a time

-----

This one might be my favorite. It's what the teacher called a "Prose Poem". Basically, it's poetic ideas told through the medium of prose (no lineation, no rhythmic devices, alliteration, etc.)

Once again, the original title was pretentious, so I renamed it.

Blink

Sometimes, when I’m talking to people, I worry about my eyes. I think, am I blinking too much? Too little? Are they gaping like mouths or squinting like button holes? Are they telling all my secrets? Do they know that, behind them, I’m just mellowing, like a wet towel on the floor? Do they know I put cheap mascara on them, and that I never grew up past seven? Do they know? Do they know? Eventually, I just become one great set of eyes, trying to swallow the whole world. And everyone looks away. They play with their fingernails and whistle, because they’re too polite to point out these hungry, greedy eyes that are taking all the looking. Sometimes my eyes get angry. They stomp off and terrorize Tokyo/Manhattan/Salt Lake City. Little screaming people rush between the toes of my eyes. They look like beads in a kaleidoscope. I smash a few buildings. They scatter like ball bearings. The National Guard is called in, with little toy planes and little toy tanks and little toy soldiers. I beat my chest. The helicopters look like dandelion seeds. I look. You can see everything from the Empire State Building. I look and I look, and everyone screams and I look. Do they know?

Then the eyes get homesick. The kaleidoscope becomes people, the seeds are flying machines, the toy soldiers are scared kids, and I blink.

------

This last one I don't like so much as a whole, but as the sum of its parts its OK. It has some problematic bits, but there are a couple turns of phrase that I'd like to keep.

The Paper Child

You were sneaker-shod,

skinny-armed, and you

had just a little

madness

Two firefly eyes, and

One ragged smile,

all teeth.

Sneaker-slapping, shirt-tail flapping

Knuckles, fists, and dirty knees,

Like in those books you loved to read.

Books of big-armed men shod in leather, and

paper tongues, and

big black bugs, and

gears and wheels and chains, and

justice, and

fire, and

stuff.

And colours like no colours are in life.

You found a world made up for you

with just a little madness too.