Published at http://www.thebeautifulspace.co.uk/
Thank you so much!!!
Creating "the bouncy ball man's bi-polar journey"
A friend asked me to write a poem about him. He lives within the light and dark of bi-polar. I chose to portray an unflinching view of the cycle, as I understand it. The poem is written in manic style, that setting aside of the rules, in this case, the rules of writing conventions (capital letters, punctuation.) I believe this aids to the form of the poem.
the bouncy ball man’s bi-polar journey
unlike the yo-yo
with its advantage
of a straight trajectory
he rises
into the heavens
where he dances unabashed with comets
using astroids as castanets
while his castilian boot heels click across the sky
his silky sable hair being blown
by cosmic wins
his head thrown back
as a gleeful song
rises from his throat
the blessed cold and dark
do not bother him
His descent
takes him past us
and as he passes
he laments the fact
that we don't see him
he thinks
below
in the depths
the pressure is so onerous
like atlas or the turtle
he struggles to hold up
his own world
the cursed heat of pain and sorrow
subjecting him to
merciless vexing light
and unbroken rage
eventually sets him alight
and as he burns
what comes from his throat
sounds nothing like song
but as does the phoenix
he will rise from the ashes
again transitioning
once again a passerby
in the land of man
he still laments the fact
that we don't see him
he thinks
but this time he wonders
( Linda Imbler is the Kansas based author of “Big Questions, Little Sleep.” )
unlike the yo-yo
with its advantage
of a straight trajectory
he rises
into the heavens
where he dances unabashed with comets
using astroids as castanets
while his castilian boot heels click across the sky
his silky sable hair being blown
by cosmic wins
his head thrown back
as a gleeful song
rises from his throat
the blessed cold and dark
do not bother him
His descent
takes him past us
and as he passes
he laments the fact
that we don't see him
he thinks
below
in the depths
the pressure is so onerous
like atlas or the turtle
he struggles to hold up
his own world
the cursed heat of pain and sorrow
subjecting him to
merciless vexing light
and unbroken rage
eventually sets him alight
and as he burns
what comes from his throat
sounds nothing like song
but as does the phoenix
he will rise from the ashes
again transitioning
once again a passerby
in the land of man
he still laments the fact
that we don't see him
he thinks
but this time he wonders
( Linda Imbler is the Kansas based author of “Big Questions, Little Sleep.” )
