Best foot forward, we march on through the POETIC BLOOMINGS MEMOIR PROJECT. We’ve looked inwardly and have taken inspiration from our habitat and friends. The light returns to you. We are forgoing our given names and looking at the tags or “aliases” we’ve assumed or have had foisted upon us over the years. Take the next step:
“HOW DO YOU VIEW your life? – POETIC BLOOMINGS MEMOIR PROJECT
Part 5: A.K.A. – Did you have a nickname or special pet name growing up? What did your parents call you? How did friends refer to you? Whether you liked it or not, write it as the title of your poem. Was it a derivative of your given name? Your surname? If you didn’t have one, what nickname could you have given yourself? Shakespeare queried, “What’s in a name?”. Present your “rose” any other name and give the Bard some idea!
MARIE ELENA’S NICKNAME:
“Don’t drink, don’t smoke – what do you do?” ~ from Adam Ant’s “Goody Two Shoes”
At a rather formal function,
A male voice hollered, “SHOES!”
Though dapper guests were mystified,
Myself was not confused.
I whirled around to catch his eye,
And saw him standing there
With playful eyes, a roguish grin,
And meager reddish hair.
We hadn’t seen each other
In probably five years
He really hadn’t changed his ways,
This teaser, it appears.
He called me “Shoes” or nothing,
‘Twas fitting, in his view.
But not as in a fetish –
Just short for “Goody Two.”
And he was not the only one
Who labeled me this way
Another boss and friend of mine,
While I was once away,
Took over my computer
My “theme song” to implant.
When I returned to work to boot her,
Out roared Adam Ant!
© Marie Elena Good – original 2009; rewritten 2012
P.S. This was even before I had married Keith Good! 😉
YA DOESN’T HAS TO CALL ME JOHNSON!
I was “Pinky”.
A bouncing bit of baby boy.
Feet first into the world
wide-eyed and alert with
rosy cheeks coming and going.
I was “Mały Władziu” (Little Wally),
a tribute to two generations
of Walters of Polish decent.
No ego problems arise in
the baby blues eyes of the diminutive one.
I was “Sonny”,
my father’s bright light.
When his own beacon started to fade
he drew comfort from my flicker
a lesser flame with the same name.
I was “Schroeder”.
Keyboard prodigy at eight,
a great start of a creative bent.
It all went from my head to my fingers,
the melody still lingers.
I was “Neutron”,
younger brother of “Proton”.
Where he was positively charged,
I was a negative ion, not venturing
beyond my set orbit; playing it safe.
I was “Banger”,
short for “Wallbanger”,
the junior carpenter
making a clamor with my hammer,
just like my father.
I am Walt,
verbose to a fault,
composer, lyricist, playwright,
and poet. You know it runs within me,
for better or verse, my words are winners.
It never mattered what they called me,
as long as it wasn’t “late for dinner!”
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012