A Nightly Inspiration

I don’t know how often this happens to you, but it happens to me regularly. I’m just about to enter dreamland and it hits me, a great sentence. A poem. A story idea.

I used to roll over and ignore it. I don’t do that anymore. Convinced I’d remember in the morning I let the ideas leave me, gone forever. Waking up not even being close to remembering. So now I keep a pad and pen next to my lamp so I can quickly jot down my idea and then fall asleep in peace.  I’ve also started documenting my dreams (a suggestion from my boyfriend, who I believe was so sick of me telling him about the clouds and pirates and alligators). I’m currently working on a short story that was inspired by a dream/nightmare.

The following is a poem that came to me last night. I’d love to make it better but I’m not sure what to do with it. Since I’m not in any workshops this semester I’d love any and all suggestions. Seriously. I want to know what you all think (yes, even if you think a donkey could write a better poem).

Thanks in advance.

 

An Existentialist No More

(copyright http://www.onemeanmfa.wordpress.com)

 

I won’t just be

I’ll be

            Panache

I’ll be

            Pizzazz

I’ll be

            a Punch

or

plain and Human

accept the purpose.

 

Just

Breathing

Living

Being

Not for me

I’ll soak in the breeze

Swallow salt water

Do Jumping Jacks

Procreate

 

You take Your theory

I

Am better than that.

I’ll be:

A

    L

       I

         V

            E.

 

(copyright www.onemeanmfa.wordpress.com)

 

Thoughts? Criticism?

A Poem

I started to write this as a joke while I sat  in class, but I liked the concept and finished it. I would love some feedback on it. Suggestions for improvement, what you think about it.

Emotional Cheeseburger

(copyright www.onemeanmfa.wordpress.com)

 

I cried once,

eating a Wendy’s dollar menu cheeseburger.

My hunger palpable.

The pangs banging against

the inner lining of my belly.

 

Growl.

 

I’m fucking starving, I kept thinking.

Had you asked me what starvation was

I would have answered,

 

Empty.

 

We sat in the drive-through

 

Waiting.

 

I want my damn burger,

Give it to me.

I need the meat.

 

 

We drove, the car smelled like

potatoes drenched in reused oil and refrigeration.

Give it to me.

 

It was passed over

white paper bags and

cardboard potato holders.

The smell: greasy paper wrapped meat nestled

between white bleached bread

soaked with condiments and a meaty residue.

 

One bite

So satisfied

The lettuce ripped apart by

Teeth.

Meat, pickles, and ketchup

Ground together bringing tears to my eyes.

 

Copyright: www.onemeanmfa.wordpress.com

 

Thanks again for the feedback, in advance.