1

Chery Victoria

For a Bear

By a Bear

To a Bear

2

3

Copyright © 2014 by Chery Victoria. All rights reserved. Classroom Edition

4

5

Table of Contents

Preface……………………………………………………………………………………………..7

Ursus……………………………………………………………………………………………..11

Brother Bear……………………………………………………………………………………...12

Blocked Windows………………………………………………………………………………..13

The Cave…………………………………………………………………………………………14

Trout……………………………………………………………………………………………...15

Estrangement……………………………………………………………………………………..16

Umbrella…………………………………………………………………………………………18

Picnic Basket……………………………………………………………………………………..19

Stalks……………………………………………………………………………………………..20

I Don’t Even Like Fish…………………………………………………………………………..21

All That is Left…………………………………………………………………………………...22

Procrastination…………………………………………………………………………………...23

6

7

Preface

More than a Bear by Chris Davis

If I were here writing this having met Chery Victory only a few times the word I would

have started with is bears. Chery absolutely loves bears, from the way they interact in the wild to

the way they hunt. While you think that this is what defines Victoria though you are sorely

mistaken. Chery is a caring, gentle and genuinely good person. Yes, he does have an unusual

love for bears, which I have never seen before. This is only part of his person though. Some may

label his writing as childish and that it only represents this fascination of bears, but his is also a

shallow interpretation. Victoria makes very many strong personal statements throughout his

works always expressing his self-awareness, inner thoughts and inner pride. This book is almost

a testament to how self-aware Victoria is and what he hopes to prove to the world. “I am not

your teddy bear or a teddy bear for that matter. I may come off as grizzly But I am far from a

bear. I am just a kind,

Loud and ridiculously obnoxious individual.”

The text of “For a Bear, By a Bear, To a Bear,” follows a rather interesting path as it

works its way through. In the first poem, Ursus, the reader is introduced to the idea of bears. This

poem is almost a tribute to bears, complimenting them for their natural beauty and intelligence

while also condemning those who see bears as an alternative part of our lives. While on the

surface this poem is about these things, the poem goes much deeper than that. This poem is in a

way an homage to every person in their life: Young and playful in their young age, full of

wonderment and innocence to then be remembered in the afterlife for al they were and therefore

respected.

8

The second poem in the work, Brother Bear, echoes many of these same emotions but in

a more personal first-person narrative. The reader can take from this that Victoria is comparing

himself to bears. He is, in a way, saying that you have nothing to fear. You have nothing to be

afraid of no matter what the appearance of anything may be, everything has a distinct purpose

and everything is in its place. Similar to this poem, Blocked Windows continues the first-person

narrative in an internal struggle to break past barriers. While his may seem cliché on the surface

and a simple way of summarizing bears and what may go through their minds, it is actually a

great metaphor for many of the feats one may encounter in life. This poem speaks to how in

one’s life challenges will come and pass but at the same time it is important to keep pushing

through to get to the ultimate goal, as can be assumed for our author.

The following poem, The Cave, does not echo that of Plato, as the title may suggest.

Much like the previous poem, this one speaks of the insatiable need to find one’s home and

define themselves. The use of bear-based imagery throughout does not reflect some self-image

but the idea of seeing oneself as stalwart, ready to take on and shake off all that comes your way.

“Nothing, just white. Facing it I find myself In too deep to just give up, There’s nonsense in

making matters worse. I’m cold, I’m wet. And the snow, The snow is still there.” This theme is

echoed throughout the entire work as this poem can be seen as a turning point in the work.

Trout, the next poem in the work, follows the narrative of a fish working its way

upstream, mentally narrating all the challenges and obstacles he must overcome. There is a

glimmer of hope in this poem though, as Victoria goes through a transformation from almost

hopeless to triumphant in his poems. There is also a hint of humor in this poem, signaling that

better times are to come. This not only speaks to the aesthetic of the book but to the author in

general. If one were to talk to Chery for one minute they would be able to tell how he views

9

every negative situation not as bad, but as a positive learning experience where the moral and

lesson will soon be apparent. “But once you’re There you think back to how far you’ve come and

turning back Seems senseless. The risks are high, but the benefits are endless. A nice lady and a

nice redd in which to repopulate.”

The next few poems take an almost romantic turn, as Victoria speaks of the simple joys

of closeness. To use what should soon be a banned word, these poems are very relatable. They

showcase the innocence of discovery and lust and what it truly can mean to break into another’s

mind and infatuate them. I have seen some of this behavior from Chery myself, well not so much

him infatuating me. Chery has such a pleasant personality and a big heart it is no wonder he

relates so much to bears. He has an insatiable quality about him that allows him to know if you

are having a bad day just with a glance and a smile, and that can be seen clearly in this part of the

book.

The last three poems of the book cover a period almost of dismay awash with the need to

reevaluate what one has been through. In All That is Left, the first stanza sums up this experience

perfectly. “A festered lump stitched and seamed Hiding gashes left by Cracked teacups and tea

from various spices. Unwanted pressure rises.” Victoria not only speaks to the act of betrayal but

of dismay and lust lost. It is an important lesson that everyone can take to heart.

While many poetry books have come and gone, “For a Bear, By a Bear, To a Bear” by far

exceeds its initial impression. What, at first glance, could be called a book about bears is actually

a book about living, and how one must experience everything no matter how hard or dismaying

it may be. It is obvious that there is a lot of heart put into these poems and it is important to

remember that a man who exhibits the same traits wrote them.

10

11

Ursus

In youth they climb up barked out trees still wet

From white and flaky snow once caked from months

Of endless flurries. Older complements

Use pointy claws along with teethy clumps

To strike aggressors quick to save their young

During those fishless months when cubby flesh

Is salivatingly delicious. Rung

For luscious fur to make some coats and mesh

For rugs. They’re poached to decorate some floor—

The glossy panelated oaky hardwood.

They’re stuffed, neglected, stumped or hung from doors

With lifeless eyes that watch as if it could.

It’s powerful, it’s graceful, smart and lacks

From all of these unwarranted attacks.

12

Brother Bear

Pointing sharp and grey shiny teeth at the end

Of long, smoothed and brown shafts

Only make me want to defend myself.

Baring my teeth is not particularly

Appealing and standing up on two legs

Is very revealing.

My long claws are for berry picking

And the phishing of fish

Not the unhemming of your stitching.

Walk away and avoid the dismay

There is no need for the deliberate disarray

13

Blocked Windows

Are the windows still blocked up? Let’s see. They can’t be.

Trying, returning just to leave without success.

The boards on the windows come in sets of three

That refuse to budge even when tugged at by me.

Successive attempts rattle the boards less.

Windows are still blocked but not for longer, that’s my decree.

I’m sick of nails, they’re impaled and I can’t seem to pull them free.

It’s impressive how one can shave boards out of a tree,

And impede my way with just a set of three.

I can no longer worry about me—

Too much at stake. All this trout and no honey to dress

I turn from blocked boarded brown windows asking, “Where are the bees?”

Cracks in the would-be tree reveal glimpses of thick and sweet abductees

Coating the very insides of each jar, and soon… me. What’s abreast must be addressed

I will splinter all these boards… and stack them in sets of three—

The only obstacle obstructing me.

That coveted nectar will be mine. I’ll indulge the urges I’ve repressed

I’ll regress to my primal embrace and uproot

The three sets of boards that once obstructed me, making them imaginary.

14

The Cave

I can barely see it— snow is blinding.

It forces me to mold and blend

My mind in, the sight of it too superficial

Never holding up, clumping up,

Bothersome. It lies reflecting

Nothing, just white. Facing it I find myself

In too deep to just give up,

There’s nonsense in making matters worse.

I’m cold, I’m wet. And the snow,

The snow is still there.

I look back to where

Trenches of mud left

By a large beast—me—

Shoot out of the wet soggy

Ground.

With heavy sodden bristly coat

Becoming heavier with each

Successive sop I walk on

Past the scaley scratchy bark

Towards my home, my haven,

My cave.

15

Trout

That time of year has come again and there’s nothing

That pains me more than leaving our cozy bluff

In search of that golden coveted red that’s sought

By all, including me. It’s bad enough we always

Run the risk of getting caught. There’s no guarantee

I’ll make it back, but the lack of food about does it

For me. It takes the round vanilla frosted cake. But now

That I think back on memories from last year’s trek,

It wasn’t the lack of food. Oh no. I made it last, I was

The only thing going fast breaking water like on breaks wind.

I stored and layered sheets upon sheets of fat, just enough

To get me there and back. my issue, or issues, just to be

Technical, were the goddamn predators that stalked us

From the moment we strapped our long haul shoes and

Set off for the clear and shallow mountain streams ending

In clear and wide yellow rocky pools. The seals and their

Large, slick, yet nimble bodies were first. Here I am

Struggling to find the stream where I’ll meet the girl

Of my dreams while they needle in and out of countless

Schools of fish: large ones, wide ones, round ones.

16

The seals aren’t that bad, dull scales keep me hidden

Among the countless showoffs that swim next to, behind,

Ahead of, below, and above me. given their large bodies,

The more inland we swim, the less they can follow.

The shallow waters and fish ladders force us to gather

In noticeably large groups and pick us out as we leap

From pool to pool in a thin shiny watery dress that

Beckons the eagles, majestic creatures really, to swoop

Down and with talons outstretched catch fish after fish,

Without a doubt. That’s not what I am about. I am just

A trout hoping a lovely lady doesn’t take me for a fool.

As bad as eagles are, if we stay deep in the shallow waters

And time the jump, they stay away, for the most part.

Bears are the worst imaginable thing to a trout. They pick

Us off in midair, in the shallows, and in the deep water. It’s

An art. Four-inch claws impale the largest of trout. Doesn’t

Matter if it’s in midair, a few inches below the surface, or a

Few feet. Strong paws wade through water effortlessly, and

Large fast jaws clamp down on two fish at a time and swallow

Us still damp. Bears simply suck. It almost makes you want to

Stay home in the safety of our coral caked reef. But once you’re

There you think back to how far you’ve come and turning back

Seems senseless. The risks are high, but the benefits are endless.

A nice lady and a nice redd in which to repopulate.

17

Estrangement

Precipitating fights that will never be,

Insulted and spitefully decreed

With outstretched paw

He claimed dominance over

Me.

He issued his challenge

And when it’s spun, it’s sealed.

Can’t go back, it’s done. he

Signed comfort over with

Carnage—

Only to be left with a dinged

Bent pride and no place

To go.

18

Umbrella

Dear lovely young lady

With the blue umbrella

Why do you shield your eyes

From me

Under your umbrella?

Am I so menacing?

Needless to say, I am a bear

But I assure you

I am a teddy

You weren’t shy when I

Had my inward disguise

We took pictures under

The leafless trees

In front of the school

Behind your camera

You didn’t fear me then

So what has changed

Since way back when?

I am no more stranger

Than I have been

On that soggy leaf day

Do you need your camera

To remember?

Please do take it out

I can’t

Have you fear me

Take it out so we

Can be friends again

19

Picnic Basket

In the most immediate of moments

There’s a surge

Of desperation

Never concise, yet to the point.

A declaration— of sorts—

That begins

In a hurry

And is followed by

Indignation and secrecy.

Fearing exposure

And those

Called leers

He Peers over

The bush

Hoping the coast is clear.

To avoid senseless

Confrontation

With bashful condemnation

He watches for

And listens for

The slightest spatial shift

While eyeing the handled

Box woven like the

Lattice of a warm apple pie.

20

Stalks

Light sliding off stalks

At 450-degree angles creating pits

Of shade where swirls of wind

Convene making the dry

And flaky day almost bearable.

Stalks that provide no shelter

On wet and drippy days

Ooze thick viscous nectar

From layered nests

Sitting high up the stalks

Below branches coating

The scaley bark with

A sugary sheen.

21

I Don’t Even Like Fish

When my hair grows too long to comb,

It curls and fluffs, but how can the

Individual strands be mistaken for fake

Bristles of fur?

I don’t have sharp four inch claws

At the end of my digits. I have opposable

Thumbs and I lack the body hair necessary

To survive northern bitterly frosted winters.

I can’t pulverize a bowling ball in my

Jaws, let alone grasp it. I don’t have long

White teeth used to catch elusive fish

In the fast and narrow stream.

I don’t even like fish. I am much more

Than a brown furry mutilated inanimate

Toy bear and I don’t care that I am

Warm and cuddly and belong on your bed.

I am not your teddy bear or a teddy bear

For that matter. I may come off as grizzly

But I am far from a bear. I am just a kind,

Loud and ridiculously obnoxious individual.

22

All That Is Left

A festered lump stitched and seamed

Hiding gashes left by

Cracked teacups and tea from various spices.

Unwanted pressure rises

Leading to flamed brown bristles leaving ashes

To clump and form in place where feign

And vain are trapped and sorted out because

No one remembers what the argument was about.

Two victims— the giftee and the gift

Meant to weld the fence that serves as

A tight knitted mesh that once sifted through

Cancerous debris in suspenders and a bow all ready

For church in Sunday clothes—

Both on the ground, one sitting, and the other

Face down, slim smoke trails rising from

The dull grey-burnt tips of fake fur

Left by the faint blue flame used to mend

The betrayal she felt.

23

Procrastination

What is the dinosaur equivalent of a bear?

Is there even one? I don’t see a bear having feathers.

Speaking of feathers, why are they stuffed into pillows?

It doesn’t make any sense to me. But, I’m on the clock,

I have to keep it together, I can’t lose perspective.

If I keep this up, the end will be gruesome.

It always ends bloody and gruesome,

If I don’t take care of the big brown bear

Obstructing my vision, my perspective.

I no longer have the luxury to ponder feathers.

I’ll need much more than mere pillows

To comfort my head. “I’m late, where’s the clock?

I was supposed to be there already, it’s 9 o’clock.”

This always happens; the outcome is always gruesome.

It’s now too late, it cannot be softened, no, not even with the softest of pillows.

It’s been shredded to pieces by the imaginary bear

That mistook for fish my idle feathers.

Now what’s left is no longer cohesive; I’ve lost perspective.

I’ve lost sight of my perspective,

But not because I lost sight of my clock.

On the contrary, I blame the feathers.

There is nothing more gruesome

Than little, shiny, unruffled winged leaves. Not even bears

Measure up, not even if they attacked with fluffy pillows.

24

It’s pretty late, I could really use a pillow.

I gotta get my act together, get back in perspective,

But shortly after I finish wrestling this final bear.

It is so late, I yawn by just looking at the clock.

I don’t know how or why this became so gruesome.

I just want to lie down on my bed lined with feathers.

I’ve had it. I am done with these feathers,

I don’t even want them in my pillows.

It’s too much. I can’t bear this gruesomeness.

I’ll be here all night if I don’t get in perspective.

I can’t wait until I stop the ticking on the clock.

To think, all this started or didn’t because of a bear.

But now, I’m past the bear and the feathers,

I can finally stop the ticking clock and lie on my pillow.

I managed to put things in perspective and it finally grew some.

25