Neil Hester

All poems © Neil Hester unless otherwritten

Location: North Carolina, United States

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Hydropsyche: Umbrella Brigade

I'm pleased with the comments on the PSAT; I may write a shorter follow-up to cover the National Merit Society, a scholarship rewards group that goes hand-in-hand with the PSAT. To put that into context, if I get a high enough score on the PSAT next year, people will pay a good portion of my dues in college.

That said, here's a poem that's longer than most of my works (I still have problems keeping interest intact in longer works):


Hydropsyche: Umbrella Brigade

Hello! I am of the Umbrella Brigade:
One of the siblings Hydropsyche.
Follow, child, our perfect parade,
And understand. Now, carefully
Listen; I am the teller of rain,
Of heavenly poison, of falling champagne.

Our sky is chartreuse donning goldenrod clouds,
The sunlight’s the lightest of blues.
The night never wakes to amuse the crowds
Of stars lined in heavenly pews.
Here we stand, the emotional three
In the weather’s decree, umbrellas in hand.

The dark fellow; yes, the one in the red
With the orchid skin and the yellow eyes,
He’s a melancholy chap. He sits and broods,
An unkempt teddy bear upon his lap.
He cries sometimes, with a choir
Of sympathetic thunder and hail.

The madame; indeed, the lady in blue
With the lavender hue and the slender hands,
She stands there, reading a romance,
On and unending, poring eternally
Like the monotone rain that worships her,
Her and her book of purple lips.

And I; the lad in the vivid pink suit
With the fuschia corsage and the lime-green tie,
I grin as sprinkles dance downwards,
Sublime in that each possesses a bow
That varies so nicely, like and unlike me,
A constantly stepping stargazer.

Understand this: we are in you.
Dear little child, you can’t omit
The bitter parade; our march is true
To reality. One cannot always quit
Tears with tears; happiness is bound
To its vast and savage surround.

By Neil Hester


This poem is still being revised, though slowly (in the first revision I chopped off nine lines and rewrote the first and last stanzas). I like the trope, so I may totally redo it in another style soon; the descriptive portion in this poem may be a bit overdone or too color-focused. Maybe I'll just rework the description-heavy parts; I like the first and last stanzas, generally (save for a couple clumsy parts). Of course, I can't always judge my own work properly; I'm not at that level. Still, it feels like this one could go somewhere.

If you read that last paragraph, congratulations and thank you for letting me ramble incessantly. 'Til next time,



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