Transgender Poetry

It has been far too long since I engaged in the creative endeavor of writing poetry, where "far too long" can be more precisely expressed as "almost two years". Given that my recently discovered transgender identity has been on my mind a lot these days, it made sense to use that topic as a springboard for a juicy new poetic concoction. So, without further ado, here is my latest creation:

In the most fleeting of moments, a hidden switch can flip,
And a journey of tremendous proportions can suddenly begin.
Masked by inertia and acidic apathy, concealed deep within,
A contrary identity lies dormant, but with a flippant quip
The visceral nature of the self quickly starts to emerge.
Rough razors remove unwelcome fibrous bodily protrusions,
And luscious lurid lacy garments dispel masculine illusions.
Naysayers swiftly relegate such exploration to an evil urge,
Something transient and perverted, to be kept in the dark
Gloomy confines of a closet. But when the truth comes out,
Even vigorous opposition can produce only temporary doubt.
Nefarious adversaries try to extinguish the joyful spark,
Decrying deviant gender expression as unnatural aberration,
Evincing prejudice and hatred in lieu of understanding.
Resisting the rigid confines of normativity can be demanding,
Whittling down our defenses and leading us to desperation.
Oppression and rejection cultivate shame and mental strife,
Making us question our human worth, piercing us to the core,
And yet we go on, reminding ourselves what we do this for.
Night gives way to daylight, and we resign ourselves to life.

Although this poem is partially inspired by my personal gender exploration, it intends to transcend my own experiences and seeks to speak to the struggles that the transgender community at large has faced and still has to deal with, particularly in the current political climate that threatens not just our civil rights but also our continued existence. The poetic medium is well-suited for dramatic embellishment for effect, but in this present iteration there really isn't a whole lot of embellishment because for many trans people the experience of discrimination and aggression by those who do not understand us is not only very real but also a daily occurrence.

I am privileged enough by my geographic vicinity and my status as an educated individual working in a generally open-minded industry (software development) to have had a relatively easy time thus far, but I am still fairly early in my transition and the new conservative government that was chosen by voters this past November is still in the process of ramping up to its full capacity of operation. Hence, there is plenty of time for bad things to happen and for my transgender journey to take a turn for the worse as a result of hateful acts of emboldened transphobic individuals and organizations. I obviously hope that such things won't come to pass, but I would be a fool not to prepare myself for such possibilities.

--lbds137

In Honor Of National Poetry Month

I almost missed the occasion due to ignorance (my 7th and 8th grade English teacher's efforts notwithstanding), but today I remembered that April is National Poetry Month in the United States and realized that I only have a handful of days left to use it as an excuse to post some more of my homegrown poetry. The poetic series (really, just a humble "dilogy") under this post's spotlight deals with the complex subjects of consciousness and cognition, particularly the subjective nature of perception as experienced on the individual level. We often take the intricate machinery of our minds for granted, but during instances of altered mental states (such as those encapsulated by the continuum that separates wakefulness and sleep) we are given the uncommon opportunity to witness the sometimes beautiful and often bizarre inventions of the creative subconscious, unmolested by the filters that are normally in place when we operate on the normal level of waking consciousness.

[ I ]

Ruminations upon the state of the world
Electrify the neural conduits of my brain,
Buzzing along majestic axons unfurled,
Opening new paths in a quest to explain
Opaque overtones and Orwellian occurrences.

Tarnished by habitual consumptive recurrences,
My mental motivation molds and mildews,
Enfeebled by excess, entitlement, and ease,
Suspending earnest goals and ambitious to-dos
'Cause it's easier to wait for calmer seas.

Overwhelming at first, sober lucidity paves
The way to the light, leaving behind dank caves
To pursue true greatness unfettered by fear,
Youthful and confident that I belong here.

[ II ]

Softly drifting forward under a bright yet burdened sky,
Weary travelers thoughtfully reflect on journeys past,
Entranced by the implications of a question: Why?
Earnest explorations of a realm intricately rich and vast,
Together with insatiable curiosity, certainly play a part.

Shapes of habitual mundanity shatter and become art,
Undulating rhythmically yet unpredictably, like unending
Random digits in the natural constants, proceeding without
Regard for established orderly ways but rather bending
Every physical rule with absolute glee, devoid of doubt.

Novel ideas and perceptions often face stiff opposition,
Driven by fear, tradition, and implicit societal imposition.
Explorers defy convention and give up easy acceptance,
Rather forging an uncertain path towards transcendence.

These poems were written almost exactly five months apart, the former in late November and the latter literally today. Although the first part was written with a sequel in mind, the minutiae and trivia of daily life caused me to put that project on indefinite hold, until I had a sudden burst of inspiration and wrote the second part this afternoon. I had considered reversing the displayed order of the poems to violate their true chronology, but then I decided that their natural order works better thematically. Feel free to reverse the order mentally if you think I made the wrong call – after all, these poems are about subjective experience, not only mine as the author but also yours as the reader!

--lbds137

Better Late Than Never

Cliché is generally frowned upon by writers with any degree of skill and self-respect, amateur and professional alike, but from time to time certain occasions arise in which it is desirable and even preferable to utilize such a literary device (if it can be termed thus). As I attempt to write this post for (at least) the third time, I am willing to do whatever it takes to convince myself to follow through and actually publish it, and if I can use cliché as a tool to get the ball rolling, then so be it. Quite obviously, the cliché I refer to is the title of this post, which is a rather blunt acknowledgement of the nearly 11 months that have elapsed without a single entry in my humble, languishing blog.

It is highly tempting for me to offer excuses (valid or otherwise) for why I have not written anything here in so long, but I will (at least temporarily) refrain from doing so for a couple of reasons: first, I am still struggling to compose a convincing mental narrative (a prerequisite of any autobiographical writing exercise, as far as I'm concerned), and second, I want to return to blogging with a flourish, not a whimper. To this end, I am finally posting the Valentine's Day poem that I promised back in January, rather than waiting another couple of months for the relevant occasion to arise again.

Adrift on the endless sea, subjected to the whims of the cruel wind,
Lost in the vast, tumultuous expanse yet not quite wanting to be found,
Overwhelmed by the suffocating solitude yet strangely calm, I grinned.
No longer deferring to violent and mercurial emotions, I was unbound.

Enchanting as they may be, the sirens of the sea are a dangerous lot,
Offering their victim false companionship with their poisonous tune,
Nefariously indulging his wildest dreams to lure him to their hidden spot,
Voraciously devouring him and then swiftly resuming their evil croon.

Approaching the sirens' lair, I quickly searched my ship for beeswax,
Liquefying it with a strong flame and hastily jamming it into my ears,
Eliminating the witches' auditory threat and allowing myself to relax.
Nearby, I imagined them cursing my escape and succumbing to tears.

Though the end of my journey seemed distant, even many years away,
I rejoiced in the knowledge that my mind was free and my heart content,
Not weighed down with longing but rather savoring the present day,
Eagerly awaiting the next grand adventure, no matter where I went.

Someday you will find this message in a bottle, and I will be long gone,
Dead and decaying in a quiet grave, a lone corpse forgotten and alone.
All I ask is this: be not the duckling that desperately wishes to be a swan.
You are worthy in your own way, so seize this day and make it your own.

I would likely succumb (once more) to arrogance if I seriously entertained the idea that this poem is complex enough to warrant a lengthy and scholarly explanation, and moreover, even if I were a poet of such caliber, it would take away from the poem's mystery if I were to pull back the curtain and expose the process by which I composed it. Suffice it to say that I wrote it to make myself feel better during a (both literally and figuratively) dark and cold winter season and that the optimistic imagery in the latter half of the poem did at least partially accomplish that goal. Any further interpretation is left as an exercise for the reader.

--lbds137

Valentine's Day Prelude: A Trilogy

In anticipation of the rapidly-approaching annual celebration of Valentine's Day, I thought it might be appropriate to share a recent trilogy of poems dedicated to a special someone, even though my attempts at courtship ultimately floundered. I have since escaped the clutches of the negative emotions accompanying the rejection (in fact, I'm still good friends with this person), and I figured that, instead of keeping my artistic expression under lock and key, I should expose it to the light and take some pride in the time and effort I expended to produce it. The first poem in the series was written shortly before my previous post on Greek mythology, and the latter two were written just after the beginning of the new year. Like the poems in my previous post, the poems in this trilogy (and likely all of my future poetic creations) follow my new convention of embedding a vertical message using the first letter of each line. The entire 50-line trilogy follows below.

[ I ]

Spirit me away, o autumn zephyr,
Caress me in your gentle arms
As my tired hands pen this letter.
Let not my adoration bring me harm,
Disfiguring my countenance with a frown,
Intoxicating me with a dizzying potion
Not of this world, a concoction sent down
Gently from the azure celestial ocean:
Liquid death in a dazzling crystal glass
On a silver platter, an overdose of emotion
Violently growing into a cancerous mass,
Engulfing and rending me into a lifeless quotient.
Take me instead on your airy wings,
Ascending towards astral planes,
Realms of thoughts and hazy things,
As I drift to sleep in the company of the rain.

[ II ]

Forsaken in the frozen depths of the ninth circle of hell,
Reposed in idyllic icy immobility, bound by bitter frostbite,
I serve my eternal sentence, having no soul left to sell.
Endless is my suffering in this place deprived of light,
Numbed by the cold but set ablaze anew by cruel hope.
Denial and rejection are the wardens of my gloomy gaol,
Zealots of romantic indifference and masters of my scope,
Oppressing lonely hearts and wickedly watching love fail.
Nuptial melodies echo faintly in the cavernous expanse,
Excruciating reminders of a happy world of song and dance.

Though my melancholy prison resides entirely in my mind,
Hidden away amid bushy forests of axons and dendrites
Entwined in ironic intimate embraces purposefully aligned,
No escape can be engineered, nor can the sleepless nights
I endure be convinced to cease their dreaded recursion.
Nefarious nocturnal musings provide unwelcome diversion,
Trapping me in idle fantasy and spellbinding immersion,
Helpless in the throes of imagination's slumber subversion.

Condemned by the court of your heart to exile in the arid waste
Innocently designated "the friendzone", I soon collapse of thirst,
Rising briefly only to fall once more, sweating and red-faced,
Casualty of an unrequited infatuation, cast out and cursed.
Looking out at the sandy desert, facing no particular direction,
Exhaling heavily as the sun sets, I mourn the death of affection.

Once again my delirium abates and I find myself in your room,
Friend but not lover, in close proximity and yet worlds away,
Harboring heavy emotion in my heart, buried deep in a tomb.
Excitedly engaging in irreverence as night succumbs to day,
Laughing happily with you at the absurdity of the world, still I
Long for more, but the thought fades and I let out a silent sigh.

[ III ]

Tormented is the lengthy verse flowing from my sharp, lonely quill,
Lovingly crafted but written with an illicit, mind-altering black ink,
Delivered but then returned to sender. I now watch the words spill,
Ripened by the flame, onto my broken skin until I cease to think.

I have already written a follow-up poem, but I'm saving it for Valentine's Day proper. Stay tuned for a 20-line epic that will return to the Greek theme of my previous post but also mix things up by using the mythological setting as a metaphor for my internal mental and emotional processes.

--lbds137

A Foray Into Mythological Poetry

I've been fascinated by ancient mythological stories for as long as I can remember. My first exposure to mythology came at an early age in the form of a (likely pirated) videogame, Disney's Hercules. Then, in elementary school, I learned about Egyptian and Norse mythology, becoming enamored with the ancient Egyptians in particular, especially their peculiar hieroglyphs and intriguing pantheon. Throughout middle school, Greek mythology made sporadic appearances, but it wasn't until my 11th grade Humanities class that I got a solid grasp on the subject, thanks to our fairly in-depth study of The Odyssey and (parts of) The Iliad. The culmination of my academic involvement with mythology in general, and the Greeks in particular, came in the fall of my sophomore year of college, when I took a course on Greek mythology to fulfill a distribution requirement in Literature and the Arts (LA). Although we were assigned a large amount of material to read each week, I really enjoyed the class, earning one of my precious few college As and gaining an even more profound appreciation for Greek mythology in the process.

In contrast, my involvement with poetry has been considerably more limited. Although I have been exposed to (read: forced to read) copious amounts of well-known poetry in school, the only time I was ever invited to produce poetry in an academic setting was in 5th grade. In the "advanced" English class, we had a segment on poetry during which a certain Mr. Shahriari was invited to teach and encourage us to embrace our creative side. I really enjoyed working with poetry under Mr. Shahriari's tutelage, but unfortunately my poetic side went into dormancy as soon as I started middle school. Since then, the only poetry I've written has been strictly for romantic purposes (read: to impress girls). However, after a recent frustrating letdown, I decided to free myself from the constraint of the romantic context and resume writing poetry for myself, just for the fun and challenge of it. For your entertainment (and the enlargement of my ego), I'm sharing my recent compositions below.

[ I ]

Hovering loftily in the unblemished blue sky,
Eternally exuding luxurious golden rays,
Lovingly illuminating fields of grain and rye,
Inspiring bards to sing of your iridescent days,
O Helios, lord of the vast celestial domain,
Soothe my soul with warmth and ease my pain.

[ II ]

High on snowy Olympus, above the clouds and rugged peaks,
Expedient Hermes dwells. Esteemed by the gods for his speed and wit,
Resourceful and clever Hermes listens closely as Zeus speaks.
Memorizing perfectly the gilded words, he flies away with youthful spirit,
Effortlessly traversing the skies and rushing towards the realms of men.
Swiftly relaying Zeus' edict to mankind, he smiles and takes off once again.

[ III ]

Hidden in a dark hollow deep under the ground,
A dreary and sorrowful place reserved for the dead,
Depressingly devoid of mirth and melodic sound,
Echoing muffled cries and reflecting shades of red,
Sinister Hades' lair instills dread in the hearts of men.
Blood, the essence of life, is absent from Hades' domain,
Evaporated by desiccating death and turned to dust when
Life gasps its last breath. Hades' home is a palace of pain:
Overwhelmingly joyful memories of life tantalizingly replay
Within the minds of the dead, unattainable as the light of day.

[ IV ]

Powerfully gripping his mighty adamantine trident,
Overseeing the tumultuous waters of the murky seas,
Striking his three-pronged instrument to create strident
Earthquakes when his wrath falls upon unfortunate cities,
Ironfisted Poseidon commands mankind's respect.
Destroyer and defender, Poseidon grants safe transport
Over the frothy waves to those he chooses to protect,
Neutralizing all turbulence as they travel from port to port.

[ V ]

Drunkenly reveling in a surreal, divinely-inspired trance,
Immersed in an intoxicating and irresistible ecstasy,
Overwhelmed by a fiery frenzy, they take off their pants,
Nakedly acting out their every forbidden carnal fantasy.
Young Dionysus raptly watches the scene he has created,
Sighing with delight as his enemies are consumed by lust.
Unaware and persisting in their debauchery unabated,
Soon they will regain lucidity and drown in shame and disgust.

All of these short poems were written over the course of five days, one per day from October 20 to 24. I had initially planned to maintain a streak of at least 7 or 10 days, but my creativity was prematurely depleted by the mental and physical exhaustion of midterms week. I will likely write more poems in the near future, but I need some time for my inspiration to return. One last thing: take a close look at the first letter of each line.

--lbds137