Chicago - Dec. 13, 2017
Music TV Politics Sports Books People Places & Things
 
Beachwood PP&T
Our monthly PP&T archive.
Chicagoetry
Rhymes for the Times.
Beachwood Bookmarks
So You've Decided To Be Evil
Vintage Beer Signs
Easy Bar Tricks
Best of Craigslist
Wacky Packages
Chicagology
Taquitos Snack Food Reviews
How Products Are Made
Everyday Mysteries
Chicago Zombie
FAIL
Texts From Last Night
Fuck My Life
Awkward Family Photos
QuackWatch
Alcademics
Lamebook
Ultra Local Geography
Uncyclopedia
Best Pinball Machine Ever
Land of Sky Beer Waters
Calumet 412
Chicago Patterns
Vince Michael's Time Tells

Chicagoetry: Violets/Violence

Violets/Violence

A soft, suburban violet
Is a bride of quietness, foster-child
Of silence and slow time.

Buds, blooms and blossoms seem
Sudden every cycle: "Wait:
Winter isn't forever?!"

Innocence is in this way
Renewed, and any young
Flower can be arresting.

Just when I think I know
All I need to know
The violets grin with fresh mystery:

Through my synesthesia I see
Their bright melody,
Hear their bold color.

Long daylight and warm breezes
Bring them out for one mortal season.
I celebrate their brief life!

But I dread its bloody companion:
I can retreat to my garden
To ogle a violet

But through my synesthesia

I see what echoes
Through the alleys, tunnels and viaducts
All along the grid

In short, sharp shocks.
As looms the summer
Looms the dunning.

I'm sorry, but as I savor
The texture and fragrance
Of my little purple-white star

Experience is renewed.

I know what slaughter is coming.
I know what laughter
Will be stunned into grief.

Who would pray for endless winter?
Who would yearn for summers brief?
Who would slay

A violet?

Who can live in a garden?!
Will my "L" car catch a stray?
Will my bus stop get greased?

Through the quiet beauty
Echoes the loud, bloody truth:
Truth is not beauty.

Truth is sometimes laughter
But also sometimes slaughter.
And between them is a line,

Like the ragged boundary between
The white and the purple
On my violet petals,

Like the shadow-thin line
Between the luxury of solitude
And the poverty of loneliness.

Truth is luxury and truth
Is poverty. Truth is good,
Bad and ugly.

My soft, tender bloom
Is comfort enough in the moment,
And has liberated me

From the hoary clichés
Of history. My foster-child
Of silent spring

Whispers "There is more,
Much more,
You need to know."

-

J.J. Tindall is the Beachwood's poet-in-residence. He welcomes your comments. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.

-

More Tindall:

* Chicagoetry: The Book

* Ready To Rock: The Music

* Kindled Tindall: The Novel

* The Viral Video: The Match Game Dance



Permalink

Posted on May 2, 2016


MUSIC - The Weekend In Chicago Rock.
TV - Cricket vs. Brexit.
POLITICS - Corporate Spies Like Us.
SPORTS - Why Was This Game Even Scheduled?

BOOKS - Postdictatorship Argentina.

PEOPLE PLACES & THINGS - Public Lands Matter.


Search The Beachwood Reporter

Subscribe To Our Newsletter
Email:

Follow BeachwoodReport on Twitter



Beachwood Radio!


Ask Me Anything!



Wool and Hoop