Slow-Motion Driveby
CranMalReign
Posts: 1,928
Here's a little something I jotted down after my heart stopped one day while watching football. Happens sometime. It's weird. Note my shameless PJ lyric snag. 
~~~
Slow-Motion Driveby
November 21, 2001
My heart stopped beating the other day
but I wasn't afraid to die
despite Death on his pale horse grabbing me by the throat
and shaking me like a disobedient child
His cold lack of breath filled and squeezed my lungs
I touched my hand to my chest and felt nothing
as he passed through...
Only visiting, only reminding
that he's waiting
always waiting
From dust I once came
and to dust I shall return
The harbinger of unhappy endings drifted off
leaving to warm the chill of the dark love he made to my soul
as the organ he'd for a moment seized
stuttered back to life.
It was one of those suspenseful hiccups in time
when everything stops
and the mind races through all it still wants to do
So I went back to watching football
and paid my little brush with the mealworms just enough mind
to mention it to a friend three weeks later
I am, after all, invincible still...
Young, vibrant, twenty-two
Death might come to me in the form of a little lead rain drop
piercing me at half the speed of sound
or gift-wrapped in a GMC Suburban full of groceries
and kids fighting in the back
with a license plate that reads:
"PAR 3"
Not by yanking life from my throat
in some grisly slow-motion driveby
of grabbing the brass ring on the next time around
So I wasn't scared
My ghastly reaper friend
will have to be more creative than that
if he wants to steal me mid-stride
from the walk of life
and mistakes I've not made yet
I'm not scared to die
when I don't think of the wake I'll leave behind.
I'm not afraid to die
when I don't think about it.
My heart stopped beating the other day
and I paid it little mind.
~~~
Slow-Motion Driveby
November 21, 2001
My heart stopped beating the other day
but I wasn't afraid to die
despite Death on his pale horse grabbing me by the throat
and shaking me like a disobedient child
His cold lack of breath filled and squeezed my lungs
I touched my hand to my chest and felt nothing
as he passed through...
Only visiting, only reminding
that he's waiting
always waiting
From dust I once came
and to dust I shall return
The harbinger of unhappy endings drifted off
leaving to warm the chill of the dark love he made to my soul
as the organ he'd for a moment seized
stuttered back to life.
It was one of those suspenseful hiccups in time
when everything stops
and the mind races through all it still wants to do
So I went back to watching football
and paid my little brush with the mealworms just enough mind
to mention it to a friend three weeks later
I am, after all, invincible still...
Young, vibrant, twenty-two
Death might come to me in the form of a little lead rain drop
piercing me at half the speed of sound
or gift-wrapped in a GMC Suburban full of groceries
and kids fighting in the back
with a license plate that reads:
"PAR 3"
Not by yanking life from my throat
in some grisly slow-motion driveby
of grabbing the brass ring on the next time around
So I wasn't scared
My ghastly reaper friend
will have to be more creative than that
if he wants to steal me mid-stride
from the walk of life
and mistakes I've not made yet
I'm not scared to die
when I don't think of the wake I'll leave behind.
I'm not afraid to die
when I don't think about it.
My heart stopped beating the other day
and I paid it little mind.
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Comments
Sometimes love it, sometimes don't care.
Love it now, tho.
After all we're just dust n' bones!
being i adore you more each day.
and btw cmr -
"It was one of those suspenseful hiccups in time
when everything stops
and the mind races through all it still wants to do"
i like it alot.
I'm a big fan of "Harbinger of unhappy endings" myself. ::shrugs::
agreed but why stop there? the imagery in that whole stanza is really pretty powerful
Btw... while considering "death" you also have to consider whitman's take on life... Everything goes onward and outward... nothing begins or ends... it's just a big cycle... It's hard to be optimistic sometimes, but when you read whitman, it's a lot easier.
Great poem.
and even could make a tight poemette itself...
perhaps called
Little Mind
"Death might come to me...
...in some grisly slow-motion driveby
of grabbing the brass ring on the next time around"
***
the imagery is distilled, sharp and vibrant (is this piece published? because I think, especially in magazines/journal with limited space..these stanzas work dynamically and would be suitable for publication on their own
so far, though, my favorite poem is one you referred to in a post, "One Soft Utterance."
Indeed, even, I think metaphorically it echoes "slow-motion"...(by the way when i read "slow-motion" i was listening to 3rd eye blind's Blue and the 13th track is Slow Motion, cool)...
what i love about utterance is, first of all, it's so metapoetical, self-referential, in that, while your "lips" are uttering (i.e. making the poem) they are mirroring the quivering, the kissing, the hesitation, everything.
It is ultimately, freudianly perhaps, too, a "death" poem. Quivering at the cliffs. The ocean a vast she-god of female nightlit creativity...and you on the brink.
The woman's two lips, your lips. Kissing and speaking and breathing wishes. The subtle alliterations of "quiver" and "kiss"
and the wonderful flow of wishes-and "womb of white sand"
like being reborn into beauty/the first woman
and white so softly oriental (white is chinese death-color)
yet also reminiscent of fresh-starts rebirths--excellent.
Wow. I must say... I never had quite a disection of any of my poems before. It's pretty cool to see it.
So thank you. Your insight into what I've done is greatly appreciated! I look forward to reading more of your poetry in the near future!
BTW: Never gave much serious thought to publishing. Perhaps someday.