Your guess is as good as mine, but at least I know what I'm talking about!
Nov-29-2012 -- FOR COHERENCY, SEE TEXT BELOW. --
But really I just threw this up for fun because I really liked it. This is how most of my work starts out before I reign it in a bit and force it to abide by something like coherency. It probably won't make any sense because every couple of stanzas are about a totally different topic, so maybe it would help if I explained a bit.
The first two stanzas are fairly obvious, I think, and revolve around a broken friendship.
The third stanza transitions into the fourth and fifth. "This one reads the gospel to me..." regard a frustrated male person in my life who always seems to carry a book of excuses and denials with him, and throws it in my face every chance he gets. It's basically his "gospel". I don't think he'll ever really change, hence "I think he'll die before he finishes it."
"And you. I still think of you..." The next two stanzas are about my brother who died two years ago, and a dream I had about him a few months ago, where he couldn't get to heaven because he was trapped in a river of our tears. He was in a copper scroll cage in my dream.
"I want a sippy-cup of happiness..." Is partially a quick spit of personal frustration and the want for a challenge with an earned reward in my life.
"There is something.." It then moves on to my work where (this is all in the past now, since it applied when I first wrote this poem) my boss kept hiring drug-users and felons, and one in particular made me uneasy. He was one of those people that, despite their friendly approach and apparent normalcy, you just automatically don't like from day one. I don't know how else to describe it, he literally always felt like a cat hiding in the bushes.
At this point, though the piece has already begun to fall apart, I threw out rhyme and rhythm and just wrote.
"It snowed at work today..." refers to the cocaine that one of the afore-mentioned felons brought in to work and the fact that many of the guys immediately jumped on the opportunity. It was 105 degrees that day, Texas summer, and so of course it amplified the cocaine crash a bit later quite severely. This is a welding shop where I worked, so not the safest place to be around a bunch of coked-up morons. Part of the reason I don't work there anymore.
"She is screaming again." The next three stanzas (not counting the "hey..hey" snippets in the middle as a stanza) jump back into my past to refer to a female figure in my life whose anger has left quite an impression on me, and sometimes haunts me to this day, more from a frustration than fear standpoint.
...ok, continuing with "Two wolves and a sheep.." is a Reagan quote, and the stanza expresses my frustration with the current state of our country, and the ideals it used to represent. Again, WAY off-topic.
This "stanza" (lol, yeah right) talks about my grandfather who was an art teacher, drafted into the military back in WWII, in Europe. He was captured by the Russians and spent seven years as a POW in one of their death camps. They spared his life because he was an artist and, among other things, forced him to paint the symbols on his fellow prisoners' uniforms, whether they would live or die. Many were his friends. He wrote two books about his experiences, but came down with severe Alzheimer's in his later years. Charcoal and oil pastels were his main mediums.
Referring to the Russians by the old term of "red pigs", as he would have called them, made me think of swine, which carried me into the song "I Am The Highway" by Audioslave, which of course begins with "Pearls and Swine, bereft of me.."
From there I babble and what I say is very literal in meaning. My dog woke up at this point and began to lick himself quite noisily, which badly broke my fragile 2AM concentration. I jumped back in with the first thing that popped into my mind, which was the very strange cicada experience the other night. I was reading a WWII series entitled "War and Remembrance" at the time. Kinda' boring by the way, if you're curious.
"So where do we end..." was the point where I had lost enough concentration to give in and conclude this thing. Following with that theme, I reigned the piece back in a bit, though now in a different format than the one it had started in, and even managed to rhyme once or twice. I purposely mentioned the chaotic nature of the entire - what do I even call it, because I don't want to sully the word "poetry" - thing, acknowledging its deep faults, but also pointing out that this was simply the way things were "upstairs" in my mind.
It went from the beginning of an ordered piece into a tumbling explosion of brainstorms and then finally drifted back into some semblance of order.
This is not really up for a technical analysis, unless you're feeling very brave and ambitious. I think it is a bit too far gone for that. I am more curious about general impact and impression, since again,this was mostly just cutting loose on my part.