An Acid Trip on the Poetry Bus.

Let it be known that I responded to this piece without being aware of the last two words in the title. Thus, I make no apologies for a lack of reference to anything to do with the event implied.

Impressions of Threnody For the Victims (of Hiroshima)

She’s coming for me,

the ghost of myself.

Am I paranoid?

What? What?

What do you want?

Why me?

The birds are shrieking

or is it violins?

or is it violence?

Now! The bees, buzzing

and the gulls, insisting

quieter,

quieter

Oh Africa!

Stomping on those drums

Jungle insects,

birds in a frenzy,

the lions are pouncing

elephants lurking,

they’re so quiet!

What can it mean?

Where have they gone?

Was it my dream?

Was it my dream?

My heart is rising

with the sirens

in the distance.

Floating—

a dead thing

beside the limp

jellyfish,

as little glitterfish

sparkle

then the whale comes

to swallow me whole.

I am in the belly;

call me Ishmael!

call me Job

call me Pinocchio—

I am a liar!

On Shakespeare’s stage

we begin

the fencing match!

I am pierced!

It is the end!

My blood runs

so cold!

Silence deafens me

and then the waves begin

to sweep in…

Tidal!

Over my head!

I’m drowning!

I’m…

Wake me up.

Wake me up now!

My head is pounding,

about to burst;

my temples throb.

Seabirds en masse—

a mountain of terns

calling my name.

Rise from the depths!

I’m floating now,

floating to the surface.

Calmed. Calmed.

I am breaking

the waterline.

9 thoughts on “An Acid Trip on the Poetry Bus.”

I feel your pain, Sista! After tasting a couple of Hoegaardens this weekend, I'd suggest opening a 6-pack, and you'll be fine. That IS good stuff and so is this poem! 🙂

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wake up kat! lol. faint hints of college nipping at my nose…lol. wonderful imagery!

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I like how your piece is set on the beach in a very quiky “Kat” style. Your “call me Ishmael… call me Job…call me Pinocchio” really jumped out at me!

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Some of your work that I like the best are ones like these that seem to just spill out of you mind like running downhill.

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Kat, me too!Do I love you – gulls/drums/Africa/whales/pierce(d)/calm – me too!In fact, now that I'm really thinking, it's a little bit spooky.Love this bit:I am in the belly;call me Ishmael! call me Job call me Pinocchio— I am a liar! and the glitterfish sparkle and that final line.I'm still a bit in shock.

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Beautiful and brilliant, Kat, perhaps your best?. Love the last lines.This is more of what I was hoping for.

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This sounds like a rebirth dream, a serious baptism by immersion and the pace of it – spilling out … like running downhill, as Deborah put it – suits the panicky underwater feel of it. I could feel my lungs bursting.

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