Praise for
A Stagnant Mind in a Flowing World
"Popple takes you through a world of history– a formally restless collection of poems you don't want to miss."
–Tyler Michael Jacobs, 5th year SHP Creative Writing Instructor
For all my friends and family, who have helped me when I needed them the most
Contents
Ruby Idol
Birds of a Different Feather
Shadowed Morality
Valley of Shadows
Lights in the Void
Shakespearian Tragedy
Unadventurous
Odofray
Chestnuts and Milk
On Gradburry Street
Breakfast
Like Cracks in a Mirror
My Definition
Bad Dream
Thoughts Fleeing Me
Ruby Idol
A warm summer breeze pushes fast the trees and foliage, causing a slight rustle to reverberate throughout the surroundings. The sharp chirping of birds and the soft buzz of cicadas add to the unpopulated scenery. Railroad tracks lie dormant and covered by grass and weeds. A crossing sign sits at the intersection as if in wait for an oncoming train. One car painted bright red sits in contrast to the nature around it with smoke creeping from the ruby hood. A man emerged from the car, sweat dotted on his forehead before he wiped it away with his palm. He looks around for help, hoping a passerby might come along. Small field mice dash across the car's underside, weaving underneath the towering vehicle and its driver. The man looked up at the beating sun. The heat cast down on the summer day gave a sense of drowsiness that the driver found himself afflicted with. The man looked around and asked out loud:
“Who will save me now?”
The earth kept turning.
Birds of a Different Feather
A war fueled by speciesm divides our hearts and souls like a dull sword to leathery flesh. My ruffled feathers are indicative of restless nights brought upon me. My world, a galaxy away, infinitely drifting further and further into the endless void known as the battlefield. The air is filled with hatred and the water is infused with scorn. Feathers rip and separate from their meaty chassis. I see the seeds placed on my table and only see blood. The endless rage may hinder our joining but will never hinder our love. My sweet prince Harry, why were you destined to be the Duke of Gallus? Our species is split by blinded feelings, forever stuck in a violent purgatory. You are a rooster and I am but a duck. It is a tale as old as time, forever to be repeated by generations centuries onward. Though I am not a soldier, the war is ripping me to shreds like barbed war on top of a coop fence. I would give anything to catch a single glimpse of your mahogany feathers draped in luminous sunlight. The wobble of your wattle and the sway of your comb causes goosebumps up and down my feathers. The thought of never seeing your beautiful beedy eyes chisels away at me like a sculpture meticulously hallowing out his art. I’m afraid we may never see one another ever again. If we don’t, all I ask is this: Remember my feathers; my beak; my love for you.
Shadowed Morality
The sword that cuts down a brother cuts down the wielder, and the thief that steals her sister's possessions is of a stolen soul.
But the fox who murders the rabbit goes unpunished, and the cuckoo is never imprisoned for being an imposter.
Valley of Shadows
To the depths of seemingly soulless land walks the lively character of Purity.
It wanders in a hostile place, beaten down by invisible fists and stabbed by hidden knives.
Surrounded by thoughts and deeds, darker than the blackness of night or the deepest of seas.
A swirl of endless fog drapes the atmosphere and cloaks It like a freezing blanket.
Purity is pushed along as trees sway with sporadic winds that slither to and fro.
The world looks upon It with disdain and disgust.
Why?
Conformity told us to.
Lights in the Void
Seas of shining stars,
Crafted by the finest smith,
Glisten in the gloom.
Shakespearian Tragedy
A woman hears of her husband’s death,
So she begins mourning and holds her breath.
But then she stops crying,
And is joyful of her husband's dying.
For he was like a Macbeth.
Unadventurous
A peaceful life:
Unsaturated by adventure or the like,
Untouched by complexity or strife,
Unprepared for perilous psych.
I want to stay home.
Odofray
In lush hills, a man dwelled.
Friend’s gold reclaimed, greed’s discord quelled.
With riddles, battles, and friendships torn.
Homebound, with shadows of war mourned.
Chestnuts and Milk
Soft shadows cast down by fiery glows of bright white,
Dunes pile in nether regions unkempt; unseen by hurried pattering and rubber crunching the snow.
Flora adorns all steel pillars and entryways in sight,
Contrasting the bland palette of the modern show.
Houses lined with milk-white softness adorn the roads,
With merry feelings cozying up inside.
Pervasive evergreens dot corners with their wintery odes,
And tightly bundled children bring out their euphonious pride.
Shiny boxes of wondrous secrets hide beneath luscious branches of future memories,
The mystique of dancing silhouettes and hands warmed by festive joy engulfs the mind.
Sadness swept away; nothing more than driftwood in the seas,
Anger pushed aside, put into a deep abyss, impossible to find.
Colored fluorescence adorns transparent mirrors looking into a different world,
A world filled with deep greens and sharp reds.
A world filled with mystical wonders of technology unfurled,
A world as cold as ice yet warmer than beds.
We lay looking at our hopes and dreams of festivities,
Sinking into mistletoe scents and the warm ginger smell.
Listening for the sound of bells and winter activities,
Savoring every moment that our hearts swell.
On Gradburry Street
You look funny.
Is it because one ear is lower than the other?
How about your crooked nose?
Maybe it’s your dull eyes.
Your cracked lips?
The way your smile curves to a frown?
I bet it’s your acne-infested skin.
Take a look at those bitten nails.
Did you gain some weight?
You have big feet.
Shaving would help.
Or maybe, just maybe, you’re the cracked mirror in my room on Gradburry Street.
Breakfast
A taste sweeter than the finest Canadian syrup,
A texture softer than the smoothest silk,
A manifestation of pure lust and gluttony,
Thats it. I want a cream-filled maple long john.
Like Cracks in a Mirror
I look in the mirror.
It's cracked.
Each sharp edge, a different me.
Every line separates me into tiny pieces.
Dozens of versions of myself, different yet connected.
Which one is the real me?
My Definition
Smile – Verb – Something you do that makes me love you.
Bad Dream
All
It
Takes
Is
Your
Presence
And
I'm
Awake
From
This
Nightmare.
Thoughts Fleeing Me
I had a fleeting thought.
I know it was something good,
But I can’t remember it.
It flew away.