jonberger

The other poet got to the stage first
because they’re better
faster
smarter
more professional and prepared.
They knew how to game the system
and get a better position.
Clearly their material is better.
You heard ‘em!

The other poet reads in more stentorian tones
a traditionalist
they read like they know what poetry is about
like depth is their cousin,
as if they understand how to get into a tale
and to truly tell it.
The other poet can poetize and absolutely sell it.
And rhyme?
I don’t have to tell you about that, do I?

And I don’t have to say I’m threatened.
I know where I stand in the hierarchy.
Still, the other poet has beaten me
and I cannot say that I like it.
Something must be done about this
and right away.

I thought about you again.
This doesn’t happen often
– it’s been so long since we spoke.
But that new song came out
and I know how you liked the Beatles
(you and all the lonely people,
I guess).

I heard that they were
the second biggest selling act
of the 2000s.
Did you know that?

The new song
has pieces of the four fine fellows
back from Liverpool
– even Ringo,
who’s been busy
with his EPs for a while.
It’s probably the best thing
the group’s released
in twenty years!

Now, I know you probably
are still upset for the little things I’ve done
like posting that your fiance was not for you
to all of our friends and foes
and telling you that you didn’t cry enough
at your father’s funeral
and for drinking way too much
later at your mom’s…
And then crapping in your pool

– but you never knew that was me,
so moving on –
anyway, you’ve got reasons to be raging.

But if those crazy kids from Apple
could reunite
when half of them are dead
and make something
that passes for the Beatles,
I don’t see why
we can’t overcome a little anger.

Give peace a chance, huh?
Imagine it!

From a short distance
you dance so carelessly
your eyes seeming to call
but your earlier words clearly
proclaiming an imperial “Stop!”

I’m so sorry
that so many
have done you so
so wrong.

Your energy is infectious
and I want to know more
about what made you you
but I fear that any approach
would be far less than appreciated.

I remain a radius away
while wishing something else
entirely
as the radio plays
song after song
that speaks to me
as you sing along.

When your friends accomplish great things
that is your challenge
to then do great things in return.
They have thrown the gauntlet down
for you to reach their heights
not in duplication
but as aspiration.

When your friends do the big works
it is your opportunity
to return the favor
and get off your ass
and do something big as well.
You can do it
if you’re not threatened.
You can do it
since they have led the way.

Just gulp some fresh air
roll up the sleeves
pull on the big girl pants
(whatever you identify as, the big girl pants should fit)
and get to work
on accomplishing something great.

All right, kids?
Consider this piece
the gauntlet thrown.

It is important
to uncover just what happened
to Mr. Sunshine’s Matthew Perry.

For us to go on
with our regularly scheduled existence
we must get to the bottom
of our Friends’ final days.

Until that point
poverty must take a break
war will cease.
Hunger will no longer exist
(for a limited time)
and a moment of silence
has just been completed.

Right before I started this piece.
You must have missed it.

Race relations have now been resolved
and economic strata have all settled into one.
We are all dedicated to this mission
of resolving the mystery
of Mr. Perry’s last odd couple of hours.

After this has been completed
we will at last be able
to let go and go on.

Something in the night
kept me up.

Instead of keeping track of sheep
I decided to count what went wrong
between you and me
the things we could have changed
to keep us as one instead of living individually.

I got to 684 by sunrise.
Now I’m wide awake and wired
wondering just which way is up
wowing at white clouds
and wilting at sharp sounds.

We really made a lot of mistakes.
I really made a lot of mistakes.
But, to be fair, you
really made a lot of mistakes
being with me, too.

If I had to do it all over again
I probably would have taken ambien.

It was the third of September when the grapevine whispered
that I was not good enough
that she was not interested
and never would be
and I stuttered in response:
“That’s all right. I don’t need anyone’s approval
but my own.

“I walk my own line
and I’m fine if others don’t see in me
what could be.
I can see excellence in the mirror
and that is all that I need.

“I don’t mind
if the rest do not find in me
the greatest sort of being.
If they’re not seeing gold
I’ll just go on making my own mold
(whatever that may mean).
If I’m venting my spleen,
it’s just because I don’t care
about what anybody else says anymore.”

“This the kind of grandstanding bullshit”
The grapevine told me,
“that really turned her off.”
To which I replied with my very most elegant “oh.”

There is a restaurant upon the bridge
which is very prestigious
but you have no reservation.
You simply see
beyond a golden twine rope
two aisles of lovely seats
beholding this beauteous bounty of clouds
and ant-like shapes
staring up at this divine connection
from here to there.

You do not know
if you have what it takes for entry
so you prepare
as best you can
donning your finest heels
your brightest jewels
curling your hair to within an inch of its life.
You become refinement and poise.
You are the best to be seen
and you gain entry with ease

and you stride through the gates of the bridge
to the restaurant
at the top of the world
and you stroll through it
straight to the other side
going where you meant to be all along.

This time, this woman got access
to my private email account.
It was my fault;
I wrote to her from it
sending her something she’d asked about
and then she wrote me back.

This was my private place
that I used for private things
like poetry
and she had inadvertently invaded
that sacrosanct space.

I didn’t know what to do.

I ended up doing nothing.

Because she had communicated with me
in a place where no communication would be permitted
I simply did not communicate back.
When she wrote me
asking how I was
I wrote nothing.

When she invited me to a salon
I didn’t respond.
When she suggested we collaborate
on something or other
I deleted the message,
it appears.

I just shut everything down.

Finally, she wrote
“What could have been something
ended before it had any chance.
What was lost? We’ll never know.”

That was the last I heard from her
which was something of a relief.

I was just looking for the quote
within the correspondence
to verify it for accuracy
but somehow
it seems to have disappeared.

I have erred
I have erred in writing
I have erred in writing a perfect
I have erred in writing a perfectly good poem
I have erred in writing a perfectly good poem for a specific person
I have erred in writing a perfectly good poem for a specific person when it could have been created for the entire world.

How could I have been so selfish
and small minded and stone-hearted
that the birthday poem I wrote before
which was dedicated to one small man
should have been made with all mankind in mind!
I cannot be so ungenerous in this way.
Why was I not naturally so giving
in my nature?

I am sad
I am saddened
I am saddened by the ways
I am saddened by the ways I cannot help
I am saddened by the ways I cannot help everyone
I am saddened by the ways I cannot help everyone with the wonder that is me when I spread around all that I can do!

I am so sorry to you
who have not experienced enough of me!
I apologize wholeheartedly
if you have lived in an absence
of what I could bring to your lives.
I don’t know what I was doing
not providing what I could.
I should have been there.
I don’t know what I was thinking, staying away!
Never again: I’ll keep my promise;
don’t keep your distance.

I will
I will be
I will be better
I will be better prepared to be all that I can be for you, my beautiful people, the next time
I poke my head up, asking for your affirmation.