Omaha

This is #5 of 300 in my series. The topic was to rename my hometown. It became a great time to reflect on my life here and the feelings that come up whenever I drive by different places.

Omaha

My prison. My tragedy. My home.

Not a place of acceptance.

As I look around at the skyline,

What else could be expected?

It’s the place that every childhood memory took place,

But it’s also the home of too many nightmares

That will never be erased.

 

After a year of social isolation,

I realize more each day

That I can’t escape.

Eventually, I have to accept

Everything that happened:

 

The heartbreak, the bad decisions,

The awkward feelings, the tainted incisions.

When I look into the sky

All is see is failed ambition

For the sake of erasing

Every

Bad

Memory…

When will I be free?

 

For you, Ole Omaha,

I wish this were an ode for you.

But how can you love something

When it feels so

Suffocating,

Imprisoning,

Too far gone?

Can it be redeemed?

 

I can still feel the chains around my wrists

As if they were my birth right,

My own crucifixion.

If Christ bore the weight of all my sins,

Then tell me why they still feel so

Heavy,

Burdensome,

Damning?

Would rusty nails and plywood erase these memories?

 

No!

They’d all stay

Floating around in my head

Coming back up at the worst moments.

They always know which moments…

If only I could surrender these memories

And let them go.

Maybe then they wouldn’t haunt me.

 

But I remember too well

Those times behind the Burger King

In that back alley.

I remember too well

Biking down sixty-ninth street

Crying.

I remember too well

Climbing on top of my

Elementary school roof

And wondering what it was like to fly.

I remember too well

The knife I held to my throat

Outside on the corner

Of Sixtieth and Leavenworth.

 

But there were good ones, too.

I remember that innocent moment

In the arcade below Westroads.

The mini golf, the flirting.

The asking out my first real love.

The shooting paint balls at cars

From my friend’s roof.

I remember being so proud

When I got that full ride scholarship.

That night when my life changed for the better

In the basement of Sixty First and Lafayette.

My proposing to my wife underneath the full moon

On my apartment balcony.

Oh, I remember.

How could I forget?

 

Omaha, you’re home to so many things.

Are you my isolation or my only good thing?

Sometimes I wish I could forget you.

Spread my wings and migrate

To somewhere new.

A place that doesn’t know me,

And I don’t know it.

But like any other bird,

Nature will bring me back,

Forever trapping me in your grips.

My prison. My tragedy. My home.

Photo by John Matychuck on Unsplash

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! What memories flood your mind when you think of your hometown?

Reviews

[T.S. Ulmus]

I am a fellow Nebraskan, I consider myself a Lincolnite and most of my memories of Omaha revolve around bad traffic at the 680 split on trips through or to the airport, I guess I have some good memories from the Henry Dorley. I feel intimately familiar with my hometown, seems like there's memories on every corner. Even though I now live in an exurb I feel like I'm part of Lincoln. Where do you teach?

[Nix is typing...]

Ahhh, I relate to this poem so much, thank god I'm finally leaving my hometown (I hope) and starting over somewhere new, somewhere where I don't have such a stained/dirtied reputation, living in a small town makes it hard to keep people outta your business, so you were lucky to grow up in the whole "big-city" scene of things, whenever I think about my hometown, I think about my ex-best friend stabbing me in the back and exposing me to the world (Like, all my secrets and everything) and just ruining my name all over Oglethorpe County, but I do think about the bittersweet memories I have with her as my best friend, but I always find bad in good situations (I know those words sound familiar to you) so I've been mainly focused on our last encounter that tainted our friendship forever, which tainted my view of my own hometown forever, so much bad has gone down in my hometown and I'm just glad I'm leaving :) I've felt like Oglethorpe County was my prison for the longest time, I've always felt trapped, I really related to this poem, Ziggy, maybe not the whole "But like any other bird,
Nature will bring me back,
Forever trapping me in your grips" but everything else, I felt, thank you for sharing your poem and feelings with us about your hometown, glad to know I'm not the only one that feels like that...

Kindly, Nix ❤️️

[Poetic Beauty]

Memories are many things for good and bad. Sometimes we have to learn to forgive ourselves for things we have done in the past. Easier said than done

This truly shows both the good and the bad in life. Sometimes I feel trapped as well but not because of bad memories simply because I hate the cold winter and want a new adventure in life

[JayG]

You're talking TO the reader about things that generate an emotional response in you without making that meaningful to the reader. You're working to make them "know" when you should be making them care.

When you say, "Not a place of acceptance. As I look around at the skyline, What else could be expected?" What can it mean to me? The last time I was in Omaha was decades ago, but I thought it was pretty nice. And I have to ask, "How can a skyline say it's not a place of acceptance?"

If I knew what Omaha doesn't accept, BEFORE i read the line it might make sense.

My point is that poetry is 100% emotion based, but you're focused on providing data without the context. When you say you remember this, and that, how can it be meaningful to anyone but you.

Think of yourself reading a horror story, Do you want the author to tell you that the protagonist feels terror, or to terrorize you, and make you afraid to turn out the lights? To know, or to feel.

My point is that poetry is all about feelings. But not your feelings, it's about the ones you generate in the reader, as the words are read. That takes an emotion, not a fact-based approach. Make the reader LIVE the events that generated your feelings to do that in the reader. Place the reader int the viewpoint of your protagonist, in the same way you'd do it for fiction.

Is that easy? Hell no. But unless we make the reader care...

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/

[Ziggy Matthews]

Thank yo so much for your critique JayG! It seems like you did not like my intro and that through off the rest. My original comments about Omaha is not about the city itself, but the memories that cannot be erased. Therefore, due to those memories, it causes the city to not seem accepting of me? It become more like a prison.

You touched on another area that I know I've struggled with throughout writing, especially in my first drafts. Everything I post on here is a first draft, and nowhere near a finished product, so I do appreciate the critique. What places would you add emotions? What words would you take out? What are your direct suggestions? Sometimes when I take just the critique, I end up taking out the strength of the poem. Is there a strength? Would you say this is more of a first draft experiment with a prompt that should be put to rest? I appreciate your feedback! Critique always stings at first because I put a lot of vulnerability into my writing, but there's always a lot of truth in it. I hope you respond! I hope you read some of my other pieces, as I do feel like this is one of my weaker pieces. I didn't like it much when I wrote it, but I'm posting every draft regardless of feeling. I hope you have a great day! Thank you again!!!

[JayG]

• My original comments about Omaha is not about the city itself, but the memories that cannot be erased.

That' your intent. But does intent make it to the page? Your reader has only what the words suggest to them, based on their life. And the context to aid in that suggestion needs to come as, or before, a given line is read.

Look at a paired lines, below. Which would make you WANT to read on?

1. I woke to the sound of the alarm clock.
2. The sound of breaking glass brought me awake

The first informs, from the outside in. It tells. The second is in the viewpoint of the one living it, presented Inside-out, so it shows. Viewpoint is the difference between telling and showing. Talk to the reader and it's a report. Make them live the poem, or story, and you have a happy reader.

It's not a matter of talent, your dedication, or how well you write. It's that after spending more than a decade in our school years writing reports, and perfecting that outside-in approach, it pushes our pen in the direction of that nonfiction approach.

We don't see that as we read our own work back because we have intent, and knowledge of the scene making the work live...for us.

My favorite example of this is the lyric to the song, "The Twelfth of Never," released in 1957. Look at the opening:
- - - - -
You ask how much I need you, must I explain?
I need you, oh my darling, like roses need rain.
You ask how long I'll love you; I'll tell you true:
Until the twelfth of never, I'll still be loving you.
- - - - -
Notice the clever trick played on the reader: The protagonist is replying to a question that the reader supposedly asked, placing that readee INTO the poem, as the beloved, who has asked that question. And since the question is one we might ask of someone who loves us, the answer is inherently interesting (especially since, if it’s a good answer we might use it).

So with three words, and without realizing why, the reader is emotionally involved. That is brilliant.

Next, the line defines the question of: how long will their commitment last, and dismisses it as supposedly obvious. Yet it’s a critical question, so the seeming disconnect again draws the reader in.

The next line is 100% allegorical. It says, “I can’t live without you,” but does it in a pretty, and interesting way.

The question/answer sequence then continues with a clever twist, Love will end, but on a date that’s an impossibility.

It’s 100% emotion based. It calls up context that already exists in the reader/listener’s mind. But even had the reader never heard the expression “like roses need rain,” it would be instantly meaningful.

It’s part of a song, but this first verse, for me, is a perfect example of emotion based poetry.

Make sense?

The problem, as I see it, is that for the author, every line acts as a pointer to ideas, memories, events, and outcomes, all stored in our mind. But too often, every line acts as a pointer to ideas, memories, events, and outcomes, all stored in *OUR* mind.

[Nomo]

When I read this, I have seen the pain you went through. I have gone through similar things and yet they still happen.
Thank you for sharing with us, this was a wonderful read.

[Ziggy Matthews]

Thank you so much for reviewing my piece! Please feel free to send me any read requests you have. I love reading knew pieces. :)

[Nomo]

Thank you. I have a bad habit of sending multiple rr during the day.