My Fool's Paradise

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This was written for a school assignment. We were supposed to write a personal narrative piece of poetry based on the poem "Where I'm From" By Geore Ella Lyons. It's much different from what I usually write and I debated about whether or not I should post it. Tell me if you like it.
___________________________________
I am from chicken feed.
From silicon colored computer chips and chlorine stains
where old car oil oozes
Like sluggish recollections.
I am from a fallen cottonwood
(Which snowed penny-sized swabs
every summer)
hoarding ivy vines
like an overprotective matriarch.

I'm from a pew
where backs are ramrod
and faces are solemn with spiritual monasticism
set and rigid.
From cut grass
and pot-bellied sacks of wool once worn by slaughtered
lambs. I am from long walks where noses
sting from the 28 below iced air
which tastes like hot chocolate
Afterward.

I am from a hymn book.
Be still, my soul
and bended knee superintends Sunday morning.
Now that's a sandwhich! with vinegar soaked
peppercinis on New York style bagels.
I'm from Love ya double triple and
carefully planned bedtime
dockets.

I am from Christmas tree hunting and electric
blue eyes which make all the little girls cry
Like Georgie Porgie's.
I am from sugar plum rings and
texas sheet cakes
(rich and earthy colored).
From red gasoline cans
And one hell of a blazing bonfire on
Saturday afternoons.

I'm from the land of the mouse
where all my dreams come
true.
Pictures say a thousand words, they say,
and the souvenirs speak to me.
Je ne veux pas oublier.
Never.
Whoever said paradise wasn't earthbound
must have been crazy.
Because I'm standing in it.
"I am beginning to despair
and can see only two choices:
either go crazy or turn holy."

- Serenade, Adélia Prado




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I must be too used to rhyming poetry :( The piece didn't give me any feeling at all.
"The one thing you can't trade for your heart's desire is your heart."
Miles Vorkosigan

"You can be an author if you learn to paint pictures with words."
Brian Jacques




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i really, really, really liked this. i like the way it showed who you are without coming out and saying it. really good.
“We’re still here,” he says, his voice cold, his hands shaking. “We know how to be invisible, how to play dead. But at the end of the day, we are still here.” ~Dax

Teacher: "What do we do with adjectives in Spanish?"
S: "We eat them!"




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Haha, the famous and ever-popular "I am from" poem. I think these kinds of typical-English-assignment poems can only go so far, but you've put in some great images and feelings here. Quite simply, I like it.

Wow, that has to be the shortest critique I've given in a while. :D
-Colleen
"My pet, I've been to the devil, and he's a very dull fellow. I won't go there again, even for you..."




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I agree with Col, in both respects: this is enjoyable to read and a nice change from the usual monotony of what comes out of these English assignments. And I think it's good that this is different from what you usually write - not that the usual is bad, but a person can get stuck in a style or a pace or a mode of thinking and a change can do you good ... even if you don't like all aspects of a very different sort of poem you can adopt bits and pieces of it later.

The snippets of place and memory almost add up to a story here. It's very close. They are nicely worded and kept my attention all the way through, but I sort of wanted the images to take on a direction. Maybe I missed the 'story'? This can work nicely without a precise story/direction, but having something like that might add another dimension to a poem like this.



There is no quiet. There is only Doc McStuffins.
— Ron Swanson