Monday
Jan232012
A poem I wrote for my son
Monday, January 23, 2012 at 12:49AM Inspired by Rheostatics and Dr. Suess, I wrote this tonight for my son. I need to tool with it some more to make the metre work better in places. This is just my first draft.
I Fab Thee
“I fab thee in the name of the fuzz
I fab thee so fabulously.” -Rheostatics
Compared you to silver tarnished,
Said you were losing your shine.
You could be tarnished with poop!
And I’d be proud that you’re mine.
Forget them. They’re silly!
Who cares what they say?
You know all that matters
At the end of the day
Is that you’re you and not them.
And they are nothing so great
With their blacks and their whites
And their doctrines of hate.
Be honest and earnest
And orange and pink;
Dance naked in starlight
And remember to think
All your thinky thoughts
Both original and not.
You’ll win Pushcart prizes
Though your days will be fraught
With failure and vices
And mad last minute saves.
Your enemies will be saints
And your friends will be knaves.
It’s confusing as H-E-double-hockey-sticks
But you’ve got what it takes
To harvest only the lovelies
And ignore all the fakes.
The fakes they will like you
When you do what they say
And live how they live
And pray how they pray.
The lovelies will love you
No matter your song
They only are asking
That we get well along.
You can be a doctor, a writer
A shrink, or a quack,
Just burn, burn, burn, child;
Be like Jack Kerouac.
Go wear your hair stupid and
Punch holes in your face.
May you fail alllll your classes
And settle for last place.
I say there’s always tomorrow
Or next week, or next year
To become our Prime Minister
Or to star in King Lear.
All that matters to me
Is that you dream and still try.
Go drink all of the drinks
And eat all of the pie.
I know you’ll be okay because
Since you grew from my knee
I fabbed thee, so fabulously,
I fabbed thee. You’ll see.
I fab thee so fabulously.” -Rheostatics
Compared you to silver tarnished,
Said you were losing your shine.
You could be tarnished with poop!
And I’d be proud that you’re mine.
Forget them. They’re silly!
Who cares what they say?
You know all that matters
At the end of the day
Is that you’re you and not them.
And they are nothing so great
With their blacks and their whites
And their doctrines of hate.
Be honest and earnest
And orange and pink;
Dance naked in starlight
And remember to think
All your thinky thoughts
Both original and not.
You’ll win Pushcart prizes
Though your days will be fraught
With failure and vices
And mad last minute saves.
Your enemies will be saints
And your friends will be knaves.
It’s confusing as H-E-double-hockey-sticks
But you’ve got what it takes
To harvest only the lovelies
And ignore all the fakes.
The fakes they will like you
When you do what they say
And live how they live
And pray how they pray.
The lovelies will love you
No matter your song
They only are asking
That we get well along.
You can be a doctor, a writer
A shrink, or a quack,
Just burn, burn, burn, child;
Be like Jack Kerouac.
Go wear your hair stupid and
Punch holes in your face.
May you fail alllll your classes
And settle for last place.
I say there’s always tomorrow
Or next week, or next year
To become our Prime Minister
Or to star in King Lear.
All that matters to me
Is that you dream and still try.
Go drink all of the drinks
And eat all of the pie.
I know you’ll be okay because
Since you grew from my knee
I fabbed thee, so fabulously,
I fabbed thee. You’ll see.
Reader Comments (7)
Beautiful! Truly.
Wow! A mother's undying love for a son! Beautiful!
Love this. Nice job.
Love it!
The first time I read this, the first line made me think that you were apologizing for having said Montana was "tarnishing," followed immediately by saying that you could shine him with filth and he'd still shine bright.
But now on 2nd read, I see that the whole poem, including the first line, is pointing to the church members who are ostracizing/hurting him, rather than being the "lovelies" they should be--it makes me think of the Savior, who was chastised for sitting with "knaves"* instead of "saints," because people just didn't understand that to be Christlike doesn't mean to look down on anyone who doesn't think or believe the same way.
But, moving on, I also think this poem also speaks for life itself. For being ok with ourselves even with all of our imperfections, as long as we're trying to "become something," like the title of your blog states.
It also speaks of the people you meet along the way; rooting out who's "real," and who has an agenda. Middle school was so painful for me. Kids were brutal, all stuck together in junior high while their hormones raged, trying to figure out who they were and where they fit, often lashing out at each other by pretending to be friends and then backstabbing each other. Recognizing the "lovelies" takes effort. And the lovelies will sometimes blow it, too, as will we. But that's where we keep trying, and find the friends that keep trying, too.
I fab thee. And I think I have a new quote to use around the house. : )
*i.e. people who's "sins" are more noticeable, or who are open about what is considered "sin" in the church, unlike the church leaders of the time who were doing many of the same things, but keeping them on the down-low so they could point their fingers at the "obvious" sinners.
I didn't have room for the word "they" in the first line, but I didn't need it because poetry is like that.
The line about saints and knaves was not about latter-day saints or religious people, just to be clear. It could sound that way. But I didn't notice that until after because I was working first with the word "knaves" because it rhymed and suddenly the whole two lines just slopped together as the obvious thing to say. What I was thinking was that our enemies might help us and our friends might let us down. Our enemies might turn out to be people we should have loved all along and our friends might reveal sinister sides we've never seen. The point was to say that life is confusing, particularly as you're growing up and it takes years to figure out how to navigate this thing and how to make snap judgements that you should make and when to extend your judgment.
Ahh--I see that point as well. See, that's why poetry is so deep. Interpretation continues to expand the meaning of a good poem.
And boy do I agree with you about life being confusing.
Let me know when you've figured out how to navigate this thing. I know I'm still learning. : )