June 6, 2002
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one of my most, if not favorite poems. by julio noboa polanco. enjoy.
identity
let them be as flowers,
always watered, fed, guarded, admired,
but harnessed to a pot of dirt.
i¡¯d rather be a tall, ugly weed,
clinging on cliffs, like an eagle
wind-wavering above high, jagged rocks.
to have broken through the surface of stone,
to live, to feel exposed to the madness
of the vast, eternal sky.
to be swayed by the breezes of an ancient sea,
carrying my soul, my seed, beyond the mountains of time
or into the abyss of the bizarre.
i¡¯d rather be unseen, and if
then shunned by everone,
than to be a pleasant-smelling flower,
growing in clusters in the fertile valley,
where they¡¯re praised, handled and plucked
by greedy, human hands.
i¡¯d rather smell of musty, green stench
than of sweet, fragrant lilac.
if i could stand alone, strong and free,
i¡¯d rather be a tall, ugly weed.
Comments (12)
I too. By the way, it’s nice to see you back.
This is a beautiful poem, I can see why you are drawn to it. Thank you for sharing.
excellent poem… thanks for sharing that with us. cheers!
Good philosophy and good poem ! It’s hard to do xanga in the summer….. *smile
ciao, Jon
Nice food for thought very insightful. LIKE YOUR SITE HAVE A GREAT DAY
Reminds me of this song:
Wildflowers
Written and performed by Dolly Parton
The hills were alive with wildflowers
And I was wild, even wilder than they
For at least I could run
They just died in the sun
And I refused to just wither in place
Just a wild mountain rose
Needing freedom to grow
So I ran fearing not where I’d go
When a flower grows wild, it can always survive
Wildflowers don’t care where they grow
And the flowers I knew in the fields where I grew
Were content to be lost in the crowd
They were common and close
I had no room for growth
And I wanted so much to branch out
I uprooted myself from my home ground and left
Took my dreams and I took to the road
When a flower grows wild, it can always survive
Wildflowers don’t care where they grow
I grew up fast and wild and I never felt right
In a garden so different from me
I just never belonged, I just longed to be gone
So the garden, one day, set me free
I hitched ride with the wind, and since he was my friend
I just let him decide where we’d go
When a flower grows wild, it can always survive
Wildflowers don’t care where they grow
Here is a reminder to post more poems on xanga.
take care,
Jon
that’s a cool poem. i like it. i know you i don’t know you or anything, but we have the same name so i thought i’d check your site just for fun.
I like it. It’s very good. *thumbs up*
wow.. complicated.. for my simple mind..
awesome!!
HEY, We have the same name! whats your middle name?
do you write that poem?? it’s really unique because most people would write about being a clover or a flower and waiting to be picked. i like it