Old Poetry

Remove all ads!

Tonight I discovered and old notebook with a collection of poetry from a number of years back. Some of it makes me uncomfortable. The earlier writing has a melodramatic immaturity that sometimes makes me cringe. I know why I destroyed a lot of my journals from my teenage years. The stuff was not as good as I had thought when I wrote it.

I do have some later poetry that has substance. These are some of the writings I did while I was immersed in the world of art. They are written from about age 22 to 28. I'll put them chronologically. It's only a small selection.
----------------------------------------------------------------

Untitled

And this is true
As time goes by and I try
How I try
To not think about you
Well,
I still do

-----------------------------------------------------------------


I lived in a wonderful old and small apartment on Whyte Ave. which is one of the creative districts in my city. When I was evicted because they decided to tear it down I wrote this about the place.


Uneuthanasia

This old building is awaiting diagnosis
though euthanasia is far too likely
in a world that
disregards the old and charmed
and worships
preassembled lego walls
with pretty paper-doll people to divide them
So maybe some individuals
will be chucked out
into the electric network,
the city's oceans
to be carried away on the tides,
while the ancient mother
who's womb has felt the comings and goings
of the lives that she has wrapped her arms around
has her sides smashed in and her floors ripped out
And the yellowing plaster
that has supported paintings and details
while learning secrets with a silent tongue,
will be a pile of rubble
to be hauled away


--------------------------------------------------------------------

I don't remember who this was about

Untitled

Dark Eyes
Warm, erotic, unexpected
Like a touch in an intimate spot
By a stranger



----------------------------------------------------------------------

I found this old poem interesting because I think it still applies in some way to how I think

Perspective

Blind artist dances through wreckage
noticing only where the light catches
refusing to see the broken glass
but still manages not to get cut by it
Elated images
crawl through shadowy tunnels
searching for shadowy answers
and getting only half-lit questions
The eternal debate
is that between right and wrong
yes, no, maybe depending on the way you look at it
and the external debate
is what appears outside the eye
where the heart doesn't reach and the arms go numb
Images
the place of retreat
the birds-eye viewpoint
the perspective
a way of filtering out the hard realities
or at least filtering through them
so they become
no longer a threat


-----------------------------------------------------------------

This one is about a bad habit I used to have with a particular herb.

Dialog With the Demon

He takes me by the hand in such a gentle manner
sensual and forgiving
Red eyes and blue skin
Soft lipped smile concealing sharp teeth
"Just join me for a little while."
he says
My skin goes numb where he touches me
and I go elsewhere
The kiss is breathed into me
He's with me
Never far enough to break free from
Always coaxing
So supportive that I become a body in suspended clothing
And he is the fulcrum I hang my weight upon
I have no choice but to resurrect his fading form
for fear my morning ritual
will be empty without him
for fear I will have no-one to come home to
when I finish work

 

I kind of like your shorter ones for 'impact,' but I do think your longer ones have an interesting form/meter/what-have-you. I guess I've never been too much of a poetry fan though ... most times I seem not to get it, which is probably more my own shortcoming than the writer's.

(Hope you don't mind me sharing an observation here - )

Song lyrics are IMO like a simplified version of poetry. They're usually quite basic when read apart from the music they accompany (and oftentimes sound kind of silly, actually). Not surprisingly, sometimes I 'get' those, but I think that's easier ... songs are like poems with a soundtrack. The job of a regular poet seems much harder because you have to carry all the weight yourself.

Anyway, nice work. Post a new one sometime.

 

@Gaear - I`m not a poet, it`s just self indulgence.

It`s funny how music can make poetry much better sometimes. *I`m running the song of Maxwell`s Silver Hammer by the Beatles through my head.* Now THAT is poetry!

@Blackthorne - I'm pretty sure I wouldn't show anyone that old stuff it would be like running through the street naked.

 

Well now BT, I'm sure I wouldn't want to put some person I used to know through that kind of humiliation but I'll ask her if I run into her .