Siproena Johnson

As Poetry Recycles Neurons

5/6/13

Word Count 236

 

My Patient Friend

Waldo looks up lovingly as he lies on my stomach.

Day break is coming and he motions for me to wake.

This dog can be quite patient with his long gentle stare.

I turn to sleep a bit longer but his persistent nudging is beginning its wear.

Slowly rising from his “pillow” and stretching on bed’s side,

He bends his neck back snakelike and his tail whips my behind!

 

“Okay Waldo.” I tell him. “I’ll take a walk with you, but first of all I’d like it if you’d move off my house shoes.

His heavy sigh pressures me to move but I carry on telling him we will be out soon.

Finally I finish getting dressed for a long walk while at the same time he wiggles on the bed watching me happily like a hawk.

I open the door and bolts past me to the stairs.

His paws sound like thunder as he tramples down alongside the cat making quite a pair.

I watch my footing as I follow them down,

Waldo turns his head occasionally to see I’m still around.

From the cabinet in the kitchen, I grab this boy’s leash.

He promptly knows his cue and is seated ready to receive the leashed collar.

I find it nice that I don’t need to holler.

I grab my hat, ready as well,

We walk out together for a time sure to be swell.

Siproena Johnson

As Poetry Recycles Neurons

5/7/13

Word Count 213

 

Fragments of Perception

Skein; a grouping layering of collected frays,

Finely textured throughout the length of the plane,

Threads found exposed show abrasion has given way,

The now separated binding rely on patches for repair,

The patches themselves rely on the threads for their design,

Vibrant colors begin to fade with the increase of time,

In order to refurbish the patches, the fabric of thought through the plane of the mind,

Minds need one another to grow and create a stronger bind,

Stubbornness to the necessity of social interaction, can lead to abrasions from community in a harsh fashion.

Additional threads can be created if given the time to be woven,

Patience is needed to sift through the materials like silk, wool, or cotton.

Searching for these resources can take varying amounts of time,

Whatever the duration the threads created are worth and with you for more than a dime.

Minds found together can create a great frame,

For better or worse intentions, their desire for greater power remains the same.

Perceptions from mixed origins are placed strategically and put to the test,

The playing field of perceptions can now be manipulated until the time is best.

Revealing, slow and steadily a powerfully functional idea designed from many fractals,

The end creations can become great spectacles.

Siproena Johnson

As Poetry Recycles Neurons

4/29/13

Seminar week 5

Word Count 200

 

“He appeared to be proceeding in the direction of the water, but at each line of transition between pavement slabs, he halted in a frenzy of anxiety.” (Howe, 115)

 

“A ghostly skeptic.”  (Howe, 115)

 

“Collectively, these studies highlight the weaknesses of attempts to generate a ‘unified theory’ of depression.”(Rose,134)

 

Left or Right

The mistaken, the misunderstood

Study, research, inquiry

Deeper thought, searching too hard

How do we use theory accurately to prescribe what we need?

What is the remedy if not a thing?

Penetrate the mind and journey to the heart

Connect these organs beyond the physical blood streams only to return to the beginning…

Or what is thought to be

What is thought to be if not a thing?

 

A machine like the body is never perfect

Every system has its flaws

Fear…Control…Lost

Paint a picture to document the journey

Large scale, microscopic, literally invisible by any measuring tool

Not that the presence is a problem

It is simply in need of a name

Inconceivable by onlookers to grant legitimacy

Disregard for feeling by the people as a whole or the person in their self?

How much farther?  What distance will be scoped for the answers desired?

Artists continue moving with uncertainty but somehow create the remarkable without any thought

Meditative movements now break through barriers

Now null and void be these barbed wires

Mere paper tape these artists’ blocks seem

Threshold now met

Defiance in lieu of the terms

This diagnosis cannot and will not conquer me

 

Through Child’s Eyes

It’s not always easy being a child, no matter how strong you’re loved or much less when unwanted

There is often something in the way or literally out of grasp

Slipping through delicate little fingers

Water cupped in hands

Sure as we age, we may yearn for those days to return

Without the harshness received in adolescence when some believed

No matter how much we accomplish, the wrongs gleam so much stronger in their eyes

How many times do adults pause, and listen?, not simply for “I’m hungry” and “I’m sleepy”

The times children speak of their day, a picture drawn, or random comments that seem like drivel

Do we try to understand?

Attempt a reply with relevant conversation?

Pass the child off to simply wander

We may not always have the time, but when opportunities arise, take them, embrace them

There’s no telling what you’ll learn no matter how young the teacher

Children drive me to believe in possibilities

Take in what exists while seeing what could be

Children show me curiosity sustains the person to obtain and reach for new goals

Children are more apt to find excitement in realities;

A thing commonplace such as a box, an animal or a tree,

Is given a new life, a new identity

Children teach me to laugh and help me find the confidence I often leave behind

Living for the day carefree, no doubt or belief in failure

The drive to look forward to the next day, critical voices muted and left to lie

Trampling of feet, tiny toddler size three shoes
Delightfully energetic the child chorus approaches and grows
Quickly! Such excitement cannot be suppressed!
Giggles, screeches, and yays as the ambush of hugs makes headway to a close
Putting every stern adult to the test
Children’s first words deciphered, “What will we do today!?”
Recognizing the enthusiasm, in reply I begin to say,
“I’ll get the paper.” and “Settle down…” to a few.
I now search my mind for projects familiar, and possibly new.
Questions continue to spill over one another as the children compete to be heard.
Standing here, a little puzzled, I catch a child’s eyes
A calming wave of quiet rushes in to my surprise
Quickly now, I grasp this chance, their attention grasped by song
It’s 45 degrees outside, while the room here is no warmer
At last we find our seats to learn some things from eachother