Another poem from Chef John. He said that the poems just come to him.

They are in his head already formed and he just writes them down. He said that he was just leaving the house and when he looked outside and saw the barren trees and the poem came to him. Just like that. He went back in and wrote it down. It sounds like it is kind of like Tourettes syndrome, if you ask me, minus the swear words, of course. I mean really, it just popped into your head John? And then I got to thinking. What if Tourettes is just one form of the disease where just curse words pop out randomly.  What if there were other versons where poems, songs, lyrics and stories just pop into your head and you have to write them down or say them. What if Tourettes is far more reaching in its symptoms and not a maligned disease confined to random spouting of curse words. What is it is  actually a talent that expresses itself in different ways, some better than others, i.e. the whole swearing thing. Unfortunately it’s the cursing thing gets all the bad attention and the talent part gets attributed to individual genius. Sometimes if the abnormal sympton is viewed as a postive thing, it is attributed to hard work, genius and talent. On the other hand if the abnormal thing is not so positve then it becomes a disease. What do you think of that! What if all these poems that pop into your head are just the random firings of neurons associated with a disease and it is not because you are Robert Frost- reincarnated. Well, fist of all, you should be glad that you have the poem version and not the swearing version and second – you should make sure you always have a pen and paper. And all those songwriters that say – “the words or tune came to me while I was having coffee or taking a shower – and I just wrote them down a cocktail napkin- all seven verses” – Tourette’s -songwriter version. Think about it – you’ll come up with some new versions of your own. One just popped into my head! You have some people who want to do the same thing repetitively over and over. We call that OCD, like washing their hands, and this is considered a bad thing.  But then – you have someone who wants to swim laps in a pool everyday, all day – they can’t go a day without swimming even when they can and should take the time off – they still MUST swim. OCD?  Olympic swimmer? Are you starting to see the light here?   Ohhh,now don’t you feel better that you don’t have some genius talent!

 

Faux Farm Girl,

Annie

 

Now here is the poem that started it all.

 

BARREN  BY JON JIVIDEN
The colors have left;…. Winter setting them free

Just the sprawling black limbs for me to see

 

The cold and the damp have wiped the slate clean

And the monochromatic are all that remain

 

Dull browns and sad grays now inhabit the land

Gripping the soil with their chilled bony hands

 

Birds huddle and squawk among the wind swept trees

While night falls hard, forcing day’s light to its knees

 

Iced rain skewers my skin like a silver tipped lance

The wind bares its fangs, relishing in fitful dark dance

 

Somnolence lies in the air; …. an ephemeral cadaver

Stealing time from the ‘Now’ and hope from the ‘After’.

 

The pale sun hides in fear of reclusive bleak nights

When phantoms and shadows will arise and take flight.

 

I drift in dream, held within arms of past Summer

Please send an angel…….my nights to uncover.

 

 

Jon Jividen  Dec. 08