Some Original Poetry

That’s right, buckle up because you’re about to experience the original poetry of Eleanor Madden! It’s flawed, it’s pretentious, and it’s fatalistic! The thought is that if I don’t stop writing maybe someday it’ll be great. Anyway, enjoy. P.S., this app really isn’t great for poetry so the formatting is gonna be kinda wack, sorry.

Memory Ln.

“Left on Memory Ln.,”

She said,

So leftways I did turn

And laid my eyes upon the lane

For which the phone had yearned

Across the road, with dewey blades

An army of sorts lay

Beneath the rows of stubby stones

Grim, the dead did play

And as my mind began to veer 

I wondered deep and loud

What memories of life so bright

Could plague this haunting crowd

That one was inspired by a real life experience I had while driving through Oklahoma. I didn’t have time to snap a photo so I figured a poem was the next best thing. Also, I was reading Dickinson at the time.

Black Mesa Hearse

The dead do seem to follow me, but I don’t follow them

I suppose they follow everyone whose cheer they do condemn

What a sight I saw, against the sun which shone upon the hills

Though the day was bright and warm, that vision gave me chills

A hearse appeared, shining

with its rider shrouded black

And as he reached his hand towards me,

I found my breath to lack

For who would ride a vehicle of such grim and soulless bode

But one whose rich and glowing flesh had long since fallen cold?

And as the hearse grew nearer still, then but an inch away,

My heartbeat belt a stutter, and vile, was drawn astray

That evil thing within its case had looked at me, I swear

For then, the raging panic seemed nigh impossible to bear

But when then it passed behind, the land was set to right

The trees then stopped their quivering 

The sun then hid its fright

Now again, I see that hearse, but this time it’s not real

A silly thing, I sometimes think, a silly thing to fear

Though the dead are rot and ugly

There’s nothing one can do

Subsequent to mortal passing

When lips have washed to blue

This one is based on an experience we had on that same trip. We were just minding our business driving around Black Mesa when a hearse passed us on the road. The driver really just waved, but it felt more sinister than it should have.

Dilemma

It seems as if I’m here to stay in this old world of ours

With its mountains and its valleys and its planes and trains and cars

So what is there to say or do which satisfies the mind

That yearns for something meaningful but questions the divine?

Past, Present, Future

When thinking of the past I have to cringe and look away

For the person I had been was one that I am not today

But when asked about my future I recall a lovely dream

One in which I got it right, so hope would make it seem

Between these polar pictures sits a plain and perfect me

And mostly I am happy here, in the in between.

The Minnow

Time is like an ocean

Vast and full of waves

And I am but a minnow 

Swimming swiftly to its grave

The minnow does as minnows will,

But why it cannot say

It knows it may not see tomorrow 

Yet it exists today

The Camaraderie of Female

He told you that you couldn’t 

And girl, I know you know you can

But just because he beat you down,

Might I offer you a hand?

I went through a phase of writing short rhymey things. It’s fun, I guess.

madness

i have to wonder – does this thing inside me exist or am i floating

the question is killing me

ripping like bloodied glass, how do i 

cope

i can feel that force pulling

me towards oblivion

dragged like a doll or a corpse or 

a tortured soul.

do you ever feel like you’re filled with a thing so much that you might explode

ripping at yellowed blades of grass

blades of grass ripping at me 

i always did wonder – 

can they feel it?

Yeah, sometimes I take myself a bit too seriously. That one was inspired by a nightmare I used to have a lot when I was younger.

soul fade

i have never felt so scared 

as i do now, 

flying through the pools

of shadows that flood

from your deadened stare

lights pass 

like swimming fish 

and raindrops track through the dust

as if the sky itself were crying

the tears that threaten to erupt from my aching eyes

i guess i will sink into the night,

fade in with the stars;

like tortured souls, they burn

never bright enough

i am just now realizing

how without the moon,

the sky looks naked

i would just like to say

that you were always so kind

and now your silence speaks volumes

and how could you leave me here alone

out on the limb i built just for you

in hopes you’d set it aflame?

“float away,” they say

fade into that void

like ink in clear water

until you are nothing but

the spark

i loved that little fire

you became;

i smell the smoke now,

breathe it in and hold it captive forever 

in my lungs

and how fitting that you have cursed me

while you lit my cavernous soul

so i could wonderingly gaze

into its infinite depths

That one is literally about nothing. In the words of the great Phoebe Bridgers, “No it’s not important, they’re just pretty words my dear”.