Who am I? ‘Self as Travelogue,’ ‘Who?’ and other poems exploring identity
April is National Poetry Month. We’ve invited readers from across the Central Coast to share their best original poems dealing with self-identity and diversity.
Here is a sampling of the poems. We will be posting new poems at sanluisobispo.com/entertainment/books throughout the month.
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Poems
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“Self as Travelogue”
By Bruce Henderson, Grover Beach
I’m from New Jersey
From the Meadowlands and chemical factories
with New York City a short bus ride away
And from the flat Midwest horizon of Ohio
surrounding the college where I studied
From rainy Seattle where I went for another degree
hiking in the North Cascades and gazing on Rainier
From the San Francisco Bay where I wrote and taught
and learned vegetarianism and yoga
From Santa Cruz with its beaches and redwoods
From upstate New York for my last degree
crossroads villages and cross-country skiing
cabins in the Catskills and the Hudson Valley
Then teaching in hot steamy central Florida
my students working jobs at Disney World
From Babylon Long Island and the Cross-Bronx Expressway
teaching at another job and visiting New Jersey
Then a university near home as a last stop back east
before migration to Southern California,
palm trees and warm days and too many cars.
Now I’m from the Central Coast’s rolling hills
with polite drivers and local folks who say hello
small beach towns and the friendly streets of SLO
an island midway between metropolises
leaving behind the bustle for quieter thrills
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“The Goddess of Holy Reversals”
By Marnie, San Luis Obispo
She spins the impossible:
No one said she could
Keep going
When the election results
Are grim,
Her debt kept
Getting deferred;
She left her job of five years,
And her lover of
Her lace time
Is taken by dark forces.
But she kept going
On a thread of cryptic poetic words,
Wrong actions, and stagnant
Waters knowing eventually
All would reverse:
Turn into
Their opposites.
Eventually, diving into
The abyss
She climbs out
With such grace.
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“Who?”
By Marsha Thorlakson, Los Osos
Where did I come from?
What’s in a name?
Who am I really?
Wanna play this game?
I’m from Seattle, Washington,
How about you?
I’m a feminist democrat
Yes, that means blue!
I’m a daughter
How about you?
Got some siblings?
Maybe a few?
Who am I?
Who are you?
What’s your sign?
What do you do?
I’m in Los Osos
Where do you hail?
Paris, Brussels or
Colorado’s Vail?
When did your ancestors immigrate?
Or are you Apache, Cherokee or Sioux?
In any case
Happy to meet you?
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“Who”
By Ben Collins, Grover Beach
Odysseus’s object, Tow’r’s progeny,
Surname, Dmitri, Ivan, Alexei,
Featherless biped’s soul in solit’ry,
Javert’s long stride, Chateu d’If’s stern sway,
Sherlock’s slant, Watson’s helical ladder,
The Hammer, Lisbon’s earth–rending in frame,
Darwin, paradiso, Iago’s ire
Virgin birth, Karenina’s final train,
Nebuchadnezzar’s palatial view
or at pasture wet with heavenly dew?
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“His Death May Have Caused My Life”
By Linnaea Phillips, San Luis Obispo
His long hearts-moon at 51 ended.
My deep child’s breath at 18 began.
He who introduced the butterfly as lepidopterous
And minute summers in brackish
Ponds as cyclops, turned huge in
A microscope...
He filled my little child life with questions:
What is the earth and why?
Why do blackbirds rise from secret rushes?
Why can a nesting moon on a mountainside
Tell a strata story a million years old?
My breath now questions:
Who would ask; who would answer?
Me?
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“On Being a Redhead”
By Joyce Zimmerman, Atascadero
Red-haired people are few and far between,
In some areas of the world, totally unseen.
Mystery surrounds them since they’re so rare,
Myths and folktales arise due to their hair.
Because they are different, they are bullied and teased,
Painful remarks are not easily appeased.
Down through the ages villains are portrayed
Having abundant red hair wildly arrayed.
Reputedly redheads are said to be
Hot tempered, passionate, and act irrationally.
People are warned to watch out for them
When crossing their paths; they can expect mayhem.
Beloved characters on the other hand
Gloriously red are considered quite grand.
Anne of Green Gables and Little Orphan Annie
Your own Auntie Ellen and sweet ageless Granny.
There’s an instant attraction that can’t be denied
When redheads see others off to one side.
They know it’s rude, but can’t help stop and stare
They’re curious about where they got their red hair.
So you see they are really special and unique
But no way would you ever call them a freak.
Like everyone else they are trying to live
With what blessings they have to share and to give.
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»» There’s more: Click here to read the next set of poems
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»» More poems: In troubled times, SLO County poets seek to comfort and inspire
This story was originally published April 19, 2017 at 3:23 AM with the headline "Who am I? ‘Self as Travelogue,’ ‘Who?’ and other poems exploring identity."