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Literature Text
Nik Frederiksen had always been seated
next to me. You could say that it was
alpha-beta-cal fate.
(nik was mysterious)
Not in the sexy way that you read about
in your mother's dollar-store romance,
but the you-wouldn't-understand-me kind.
(he told me it was raining once)
His vision sat heavily on his nose,
and I could never help but wonder
about the man behind the mask.
(perhaps he was handsome)
He was long and awkward, very much like
his poem, and his slim, Cali-fashion jeans
only exaggerated his vertical plight.
(maybe it's always raining up there)
He'd written about love and mall parking lots,
surprisingly lacking in teenage angst, but
altogether mediocre and forgettable.
(it didn't rhyme at all)
Even before the polite applause he was back
at his seat, quietly sliding in, with slumping
shoulders apologizing for his height.
(mary could never see the board)
The poem protested as it was shoved haphazardly
into his messenger bag, and in that moment that he
so briefly looked up at me over his glasses
I saw Nikolai.
next to me. You could say that it was
alpha-beta-cal fate.
(nik was mysterious)
Not in the sexy way that you read about
in your mother's dollar-store romance,
but the you-wouldn't-understand-me kind.
(he told me it was raining once)
His vision sat heavily on his nose,
and I could never help but wonder
about the man behind the mask.
(perhaps he was handsome)
He was long and awkward, very much like
his poem, and his slim, Cali-fashion jeans
only exaggerated his vertical plight.
(maybe it's always raining up there)
He'd written about love and mall parking lots,
surprisingly lacking in teenage angst, but
altogether mediocre and forgettable.
(it didn't rhyme at all)
Even before the polite applause he was back
at his seat, quietly sliding in, with slumping
shoulders apologizing for his height.
(mary could never see the board)
The poem protested as it was shoved haphazardly
into his messenger bag, and in that moment that he
so briefly looked up at me over his glasses
I saw Nikolai.
First of a small series of poems I plan on writing based on classmates in an imaginary poetry class. Poems about the people and the poems that they write. My goal is to describe different people, emotionally and physically, in creative ways.
What kind of image did I paint for you? What kind of person do you think he/she is?
I'm curious.
What kind of image did I paint for you? What kind of person do you think he/she is?
I'm curious.
© 2007 - 2024 TheJader
Comments36
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That is amazing... You certainly have a way with words. ^_^
At first, when he said it was raining, I thought it was literal, but I saw later that it was intended as metaphorical. Like there is a dark raincloud hanging over him. He seems like a very sad person. Maybe he could be compared to someone who tries so hard to write, but in the end, their work just gets shoved back down into their own messenger bag. He seems the type of person to do that to himself, repressing things, because he is used to the world doing it to him. So he's given in, but not really given up. I think that explains my viewpoint on this, or at least I hope it does.
At first, when he said it was raining, I thought it was literal, but I saw later that it was intended as metaphorical. Like there is a dark raincloud hanging over him. He seems like a very sad person. Maybe he could be compared to someone who tries so hard to write, but in the end, their work just gets shoved back down into their own messenger bag. He seems the type of person to do that to himself, repressing things, because he is used to the world doing it to him. So he's given in, but not really given up. I think that explains my viewpoint on this, or at least I hope it does.