i don’t know who i am anymore, i was once secure in my identity, government issue (g.i.) joe, a man who fights for his country, but i’ve learned too much, am i really just an action figure? with the army? navy? air force? marines? all of them at once? it’s not possible for one man/toy? to endure so much training, so much violence, and the (g.i.) is a lie, hasbro is my creator, not the government or god, so confusing, real american hero, what bunk, in comic books and on tv, all of that is me making money? inspiration for young boys to grow up and kill? please help, i’m so distraught, born in 1964, then vietnam, iraq, afghanistan, how many men now have ptsd because of me?
Category: Poetry
Trying Out For Colby Water Polo
i was an athlete, six feet, maybe 190, kinda husky, remembered water polo in high school, we played in five feet of water, i liked pushing guys around, throwing the ball into the net, polk, you should come out and play with us, the colby captain said to me one night, yeah, i thought, i can play division III water polo, the first practice was two days later, i borrowed a speedo and headed down to the pool, ok fellas, we will start with 20 laps, at this moment i should have walked away, i had never swam more than a couple laps in my life, but i was too embarrassed, so i got in, labored through 7 exhausting laps, then quietly exited the water, went to the locker room, put on my clothes, and pretended the whole thing never happened.
September 22, 2023 or Writing Exercise #2
scroll, read, scroll, poem of the day, suzi garcia, her sentences are not quite for me, so i search for words, tulle, doyenne, melliflous, nothing connects, just esoteric ink on a screen, survey surroundings, dark parking garage, in the distance, corepower yoga next to scandinavian designs, sweat and furniture, both closed, friday night in san mateo, sitting because it hurts to walk, same old song, reminds me of motown music, the 60’s used to be yesterday, like dancing to the Four Tops at family parties, now motown is dirt, as in, old as, i’m less young too, new phase of life for sure, i’m the old guy waiting in the car, writing on my iphone, trying to tell the truth.
Falling In Love With Adele
first, the obvious, if you know my taste in music, and many don’t, adele? probably not, but kids change you, like how my sister got my dad listening to the indigo girls, my daughter loves adele, she listened to hello many, many times, it took me several days to understand the lyrics, paddle to the other side, canoeing on my brain, it is a thing, but there is something magical about riding in a car with a teenager, on the road conversation, meaningful, but no eye contact, music in the background, enter adele, her voice pulsating through the radio, let me photograph you in this light, in case it is the last time, that we might be exactly like we were, and there is it, soulful voice meets nostalgia, i’m hooked, and now i love adele, a true music story.
Write What You Know
what if what you know is just a basement rug, ballgame on upstairs, crickets outside, september night, cool air, touch of smoke wafting in, forest fires north of here, is this enough? reading a random poem by nuala ní dhomhnaill, sounds irish to me, real irish, as in gaelic, depending on whether you’re english, not me, i’m american, as in, related to merica, tennessee talk, knew it, southern, sometimes reel southern, like fishing with words, deep accent, but here in california everything is different, mostly people ask me that, isn’t san francisco different? yes, and no, y’all still just people, politics a side, and who wants politics for a main course? not me
When Water Becomes Money
fresh stream, well, deep earth, reservoir, spring, glacier, aquifer, hydrogen, oxygen, later, money maker, perrier, dasani, aquafina, evian, put it in plastic, green glass, forget fountains with their weak dribbles, today the names are endless, nalgene, swell roamer, hydro flask, yeti, takeya, cirkul, corkcicle, fijoo, yomious, veegoal, swig savvy, sursip, looks cool, sounds cool, excessive accessory, life liquid container, amazing, how we turn everything into consumerism.
With Or Without You
love before love, in the front yard with my telescope, 14 years old, pondering love, abstract love, not attached to anyone kind of love, pretend love, while looking at cratered moon, wondering if she is up there, or somewhere, U2 playing on my transistor radio, primordial longing for the one, hopeless romantic, summer night, movie scene in my head, where girl finds boy staring at stars, thinks, he is so deep, i love him.
My Grandmother’s Scrapbook
held together by shreds of faded fabric, pages torn, inside inked December 1914, that cursive once on chalkboards all across america, found it in the trash where my father had placed it, rescued history, my hands cradling the past, how could you throw this away?, i thought, but never said a word, her poems carefully pasted next to drawings of men and women, little girls, dolls and dogs, lakes with sailboats, christmas greetings from the 20’s, dance cards, foxtrot, lindy hop, young love in pencil marks, pressed carnations, color long gone, diaspora of flower petals wedged into the treasure’s every crevice, army v. navy football ticket, pink powder puff once pressed on a face, my grandmother’s, her life still here, with me forever.
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off
all white faces at new trier high school, john hughes film trademark, vanilla chicago, the only actors of color that i can recall were the two guys who took the red ferrari for a joy ride, but this isn’t a political poetic meandering, only painting the picture, backdrop if you will, matthew broderick, that envious grin, i always win, and rooney, who always loses in pursuit of bureaucratic justice, pick and choose your nuance, warm gummy bears, sausage king abe froman, voodoo economics, student drool, these are ornaments, but the narrative throughline wears a redwings jersey, we are talking about sickly cameron, neglected cameron, angry cameron, by product of capitalism gone too far, this part gets dark, like that molly ringwald/judd nelson tension, like collapsing into a pool, like killing a car, and perhaps this is the whole point of the film, have fun, enjoy wealth, but if your kid is sick, urge them to wrap a hot towel around their head, shows you care.
Rembrandt & the Original Selfie
it used to be hours and hours of sitting staring into self, into a mirror, looking at facial skin, wrinkles, curved hat, tufts of hair, textured brushstrokes, somber color palette, a desire to paint that face, his face, my face, he thought, must be preserved, saved for the ages, or perhaps because it was always available, free model, he thought, whatever the reason, several selfies, over many years, and they took forever, each one, meticulous, now, we touch a camera app, press a white button.
Daniel W. Polk 