Clayton Medeiros's Shared Poems

You need to be careful
Your poem does not overtake
What you have to say
The old saw is true
Form follows function
The poem serves
What must be said
So that it is beautiful
Complete in its own right
Filled with depth complexity
A rhythmic rhetoric understood
By all who read or hear it
Clever yet transparent
With shades of meaning
Awaiting discovery

Withered old men in Hawaii
Sit at ocean view tables
With furrowed foreheads
Perpetually tan and red eyed
Accompanied by false blondes
They look at precious menus
Desperately trying to turn
Corporate frowns and greed
Into satisfied grins and smiles
No remorse
Just endless regret

Since human time began
Conservatives and liberals
Have been at odds
Who sat where in the cave
Whether or not the fire god is real
Acting in history protecting believers
Who got the biggest portion of the hunt
The hunter who made the kill
Sacrifices to the fire god
Conservatives said no hunting
On the fire god’s birthday
Liberals said hunt when there is game
Conservatives wanted a chief
To be in charge of things
Hunting lands should be assigned
Only the chief could talk to the fire god
Liberals wanted equal opportunity
With the hunt shared by everyone
Conservatives wanted the tribes
Leaders to be inherited by blood
Liberals wanted tribal decisions
To be made with everyone involved
And so it goes, so it goes

He wanted to say something truthful and hopeful
He wanted everyone to see him and like him
He questioned if entertainment could be true
Would it be more true if people laughed
Can truth only be told to frowning faces
Was he hiding behind his narrative
Written for editors and publishers
Would the author’s face in the mirror
Be the same as his face in the mirror

Was he lying to himself
Hidden behind the words
Parsed out for others to read
To do with as they wished
Perhaps create their own truth
Overwhelm his discourse
Maybe a synthesis is required
Melding the intent of many views
Or it all disappears in the mix

All he has is himself and time
To be spent alone
To be spent with others
With the writing to be done
To discover what is there
That is not understood yet
The recognition of the words
Others reading and hearing them
Comparing them to their words

Would it be different
If he were her not him
Jewish, gentile gay straight
Each its very own truth

Sandals sit on the porch
With a view of the beach
They enjoy the night
Crickets' cheerful song
Moths' fluttering wings
Ever buzzing mosquitos
Quiet mice under the table
The sandals wait wistfully
Always ready for a stroll
Ah here she comes
For the sunrise walk