The Gordian Face: A Poem

THE GORDIAN FACE

by Marc Alexander Valle

Who are you? Can you tell me in a paragraph? I’m being generous and giving you a paragraph. Or is a paragraph too much? Would limiting you to a word or sentence, allow you to be more concise? Would that help? Or do you need a novel? Do you need plot and characters and action and reaction and every tool in storytelling to paint a picture? Would that aptly summarize you as a living being? Or maybe your definition should include body language. You could say something that could be misinterpreted, but because you smiled and nodded your head, I might more likely feel that you meant something deeper. Or maybe you could be tested by behavior. Maybe you could react to a hypothetical situation where you could make the wrong choice and get rewarded with your wildest dream and get away with it, or you could do the right thing and no one would notice. Would you be comfortable with that form of testing? You would never know when it’s going to happen to you. That would insure the validity of the test. Thirty years from now, maybe? Would you be at ease with that? Or maybe I’ll just ask people that interacted with you. Your mother. Your father. Your neighbor. Your friends. All your friends. Every single friend. Despite the circumstances. Despite the last word or two you had with each other. Would you have any objections to that?

But what if I gave you the power to choose? From the one sentence summary to the interviews to artificial intelligence systems that analyze every breath of your life. Take your pick. It’s your life. It’s your choice. How do you choose? How do you wish to measure your existence? But know that your choice will help in revealing who you are. It’s inescapable, isn’t it? We leave an imprint no matter how gentle we walk on the sand. And those who walk gently, thinking they will leave no trace are fools. And those who stomp quickly, thinking it makes no difference miss the point. Who are you? I want to know. I’ve always wanted to know who’s really who. How about you? 

by Marc Alexander Valle

©2020

The Santa Poem by Marc Alexander Valle

(Feedback is welcome)

The Santa Poem

My brother told me that Santa doesn’t exist. He showed me where all the gifts were stashed. G.I. Joes were everywhere. I felt a thrill throughout my body. Finding that Santa doesn’t exist is a double-edged sword. Your childhood is almost over, but now you have the advantage in gift begging. You can manipulate your parents into getting you what you want, and now you have someone to blame when you don’t get it. I’ll probably lie to my kids about Santa if I ever have any. When they find the gift stash, I’ll still lie to them. One Christmas, our dad made us leave a can of beer for Santa. He said that he wanted to see if Santa would drink it. The can was empty in the morning.

Human Anagram: A Poem by Marc Alexander Valle

Human Anagram

by Marc Alexander Valle

Nice, quiet, smart.

People have told me this all my life. I don’t know how I feel about those words anymore. I used to hate them, but I think I’m making peace with the fact that I’ll never really get to shake them off.

Nice, quiet, smart. A combination that makes me a rare bird in this world.

Why do we hate being different when we’re younger?

Why do we need so much of the three A’s–acceptance, approval, admiration?

Why does it take so long to get to yourself when you have to live with yourself every day anyway?

The rare bird has few avian friends, but people love him and put him on stamps.

Now I just tried to make a metaphor where birds represent people, but I couldn’t figure what actual people represent in that particular metaphor. I cringed at every possibility, thinking of what readers would think of my writing. So I guess I’m not that rare a bird that embraces its uniqueness yet. I don’t know if we ever really get there in mid-life.

But wouldn’t that be cool to be on a stamp?

Phenomenon ©2016 by Marc Alexander Valle

*A poem that I wrote 10 years ago. Also the image is mine, taken this year. 

Cowards are those with nothing beautiful to share

except the scent in the air

that represents something

running our life in the ocean

despite this great notion

that we are all one

sitting inside a small sun

that’s void of emotion,

exploding

inside of our hearts,

thinking how life really starts

without a beginning

and without our proud sinning

which makes us real hard

apart

from the fact that we gasp

as we run real, real fast

on our toes

and come to respect all our lows

in the past

fast

and curt when we learn

from this yearning inside of our mind

that we tend to remind

ourself in concern

firmly, but curtly like a flower

since we’ve only the power to blurt

all that works

like when we say in these hours,

“Cowards are those with nothing beautiful to share.”

Deep Thought by Marc Alexander Valle

Deep Thought

by Marc Alexander Valle

She told my co-worker

that I was just in deep thought

after he asked why I don’t talk.

Deep thought.

So often labeled ‘quiet’

Deep thought.

that I started to get used to it.

She said that co-workers referred to her as a ‘dolt’

when it came to judging character.

But maybe she just needed a euphemism.

Like ‘deep thought’ for ‘odd’,

or ‘good-natured’ for ‘dolt’.

But I never said anything.

I was in too deep of thought

to realize that I should.

Published in Lehigh Valley Vanguard on 6/29/15