Introspection: A Case Study

His light sputtered out long before he did.

Another restless soul adrift in the clouds

in the madding din, a thousand miles away from

the silence of the heart – and the truths that lie within.

Did he not know . . . or did he never dare –

to look and listen thoughtfully, and question deeply and with care.

For somewhere in the pursuit of happiness and the single-minded

quest of “getting” – he bet his life, he’d win the toss.

It never dawned on the guy . . . that he’d actually lost.

For he’d done a fine job of self-deception,

in the world he created without introspection.

And though, others had a lightness of spirit, he felt that he might lack –

there wasn’t any point, he thought,  in thinking about all that.

note:  The prompt this week at Poetry Jam is “Your One Word for 2015”.  My one word is:  Introspection.  I have seen people with terrific problems turn themselves around and go on to live lives that enrich others.  I have seen people age with grace and dignity, while others become embittered and miserable.  I believe that introspection is the key to becoming and/or remaining the kind of person you want to be.  Introspective people see their lives with clarity and honesty.  They set realistic goals and strive to do their best.  People lacking in introspection live in the moment.  They see themselves as central to their every interaction and do not hold themselves to a higher standard.  They simply do not take ownership and responsibility for what is going on around them and their role in it.  They just react.  Introspection can heal.  And Introspective people make the world a better place.

photos:  High Above the Clouds We Fly – P. Bourke

© 2015 Wendy Bourke  

snow angels

I came upon a mitten

lying lost, in a hodgepodge 

of elfin footprints 

on the powdered sugar path

and on impulse, inhaled 

the smell of wool and ice 

that floated like a spell 

in the vapors of my breath:

warm familiarity, as lovely  

as a tattered storybook –

the moment suspended

. . . beautiful . . .

in purity and white

and I remembered, then: 

snow angels and thought 
of her  . . .

taking off her mitten 

and drawing halos 

with her finger

~ in loving memory ~

note:  A snow angel is the silhouette of an angel made, in fresh snow, by lying on your back and moving your arms and legs up and down, to form the shape of an angel.  

photo: mittens in snow – W. Bourke

© 2014 Wendy Bourke

Star Light, Star Bright

HEAD DOODLING BACK

I didn't think that it would rain,
Then couldn't find my key.
I lost a heel in the mud,
Then tripped and skinned my knee.
I tried to use my cell phone
But the battery was dead.
I hobbled to a bus stop
To take transit home instead.
I waited and I waited
Underneath the grinning moon.
And then I saw a sign that said:
"Bus service will start soon."
I spied a phone booth down the road
And limped up to the phone.
I struggled to find change and then
There was no dial tone.
I stumbled to a diner -
And with mounting desperation -
I calmly pleaded for my life,
Given the situation.
Somebody lent me their cell phone.
I called home for a ride.
And while I waited round for them,
I staggered back outside.

And then I noticed a huge star,
Was hanging in the sky.
Are there wise men in the neighborhood?
Or lost ships passing by? 

Because if that's a wishing star,
It's just a little late.
It could have showed up long before,
I got into this state.
But still and all, a chance to wish,
Is not a thing to pass.
So I made a wish upon that star:
Please let my ride come fast.
And just like that the car was there,
To end that awful night.
And from the vehicle, I heard:
 "I just made every light".

note:  This poem was written several years ago when I began exploring comedy genres that would translate well into poems.  I found more inspiration in film than in books – the reason being, I think, that film, like poetry, is much more compressed and the telling of the story more rapid-fire than in a book.  Of course, everyone is familiar with the Romantic Comedy, but I found that there are a number of comedic forms that appear in films.  A few that, I think, could (and do) hold up well in humorous poems are:  “Parody” (ex. Pink Panther), “Black Comedy” (ex. Dr. Strangelove), “Fantasy Comedy” (ex. Groundhog Day) and “Anarchic Comedy” (random or stream-of-consciousness humor that often satirizes a form of authority, such as in National Lampoon’s Animal House) - and, of course, there can be a certain amount of cross over within these forms.

For me, though, “Fish Out of Water” (and yes, that is the term) comedy scenarios (as in the films Tootsie and Private Benjamin) really stand out as offering many humorous applications in poetry (and to my mind, some of the best).  This is because, I think, empathetic people see echoes of themselves in the foibles of others and in the reactions that others have when caught in a ridiculous situation.  One of my favorite “Fish Out of Water” films is The-Out-of-Towners (the 1970 Jack Lemmon and Sandy Dennis version, my personal fav), where a couple en route from Ohio to an interview for a job promotion in New York – encounter one problem after another in an escalating cascade of disasters that become more and more far-fetched and hysterically funny, as the film proceeds.  “Star Light, Star Bright” was my attempt to take such a, seemingly, routine event and spiral it into wits-end mayhem – ending, as most “Fish out of Water” films do:  in an All’s Well That Ends Well (albeit unexpected) way.

photo:  Star Light, Star Bright (ink doodle) - W. Bourke

© 2011 Wendy Bourke 

end of the trail

when, at last, I came 
to that circle of quietude

that hung like a blue orb

above the ancient tree tops,

my breathing labored,

in the shush of cedar boughs

and primordial peace . . .

I rested, then, in the fragrant forest:

the moments, so tender,

words of description stuck

like lumps in my throat . . . though,

after such a trek, I felt weightless,

as if all my burdens had

dissolved in the mist . . .

so lighthearted, that I soared

far from where my body stood –

swept away by Mother of the Wind . . .

and, in that transcendence,

it occurred to me:

this was the way

to come to the end of the trail. 

notes:  the prompt from Poetry Jam this week is "Quiet".

The word "Squamish" means "Mother of the Wind", as named by the Coast Salish inhabitants.

photo:  Blue Orb (resting spot on the Sea to Sky Hiking Trail, Squamish BC) – M.S. Bourke

© 2014 Wendy Bourke