Blast from the past.

so, I've been going through stuff. I've been looking at my past writing. It sucks. but it's fun to see. some of it is over 25 years old. I'll share some. Don't laugh. too much.

Here's a simple little one from 1981.

This bliss
is amiss
even disguised
with a
kiss.

From winter of that same year:

Time
walks by
ever so slowly
still
too fast to catch

For hours I watch
but still,
the footprints remain.

And the same time period, this one has a name. i could have probably saved the ink and stole a line from Janis but I did it and here it is:

Clean break.

A whole new scene
unimaginable to myself.
A place I have no hold
nor anybody else.
No grasping biting fingernails,
no clawing of my brain.
Only there.
Only there can I have control.
with no control at all.

And this one I wrote in 1988. It has deep hidden meaning. I just don't remember what it is.

Listen and hear
and not hear.
a gift unopened
unwrapped, rewrapped.
a future certain
unrealized and broken
an yet,
all the time
I know.

and my preachy phase around the same time

When your dreams
have left you standing
watching as others fall
and each morning
leaves you wondering;
"is this all",
and you know
the truth is scrolled
on the other side of this wall

Who dares climb over
not afraid
to leave behind
those who look for a door?
misled by deception
and scriptured excuses
content to embrace the floor.


And fifi's fave from around the same time commemorating a trip to the north shore, I dare you to find the technical (scientific) flaw in this:

as i sat on the rock
that is the shore,
the moon wandering over my shoulder,
a sudden chill
cold as death
opened my eyes.
and i saw,
as if a great gathering,
rows of graceful white
rolling from the water.
and i thought to myself,
"how many souls this water must own".

I'm not sure when I wrote this, sometime in the mid eighties I'm guessing. I know it's a metaphor I can't remember of what but still I'm greatly disturbed I wrote this:

You know it will sting
you know you will bleed
yet you carve yourself

with a calm peacefulness I help you
and make love to you
and you fall in love

before you die
before you slip away.

And as long as we're being disturbed this one which would have been a published piece except I refused to change the name. I apologize in advance for those I'm about to offend. Hopefully you'll realize my youth (1982) and that it was pre PC.

shit, cuntlick, and a bit of elmers glue.

dabble in trouble if it's OK
babble in double if there's a way
listen to the sounds your belly makes
pull the plug on 10,000 lakes
forget the things your fat mommy said
project fake images into their heads
do a dance in 3/4 time
glue a lemon to a lime
find a corner and kick a bum
beat your dog and have some fun.




And this one from september of 1988. A friend had comanded me to produce a poem for her and so this is a one off.

the clouds are grey
on this fine day
and the turn of the year is here
why must i
be unable to fly
and change in a way that seems clear
i'd stop the show
let it all go
just for that one twist of fate
so many roads
and still i don't know
and will i,
before it's too late.

and then my personal favorite. this one was a class assignment. I was suppose to take a picture and write a poem about it. it's my favorite because i really worked hard at it and the changes and improvement from that work was gratifying. the picture was of an old rotting barn in the middle of a wheat field. Rereading it being in my middle years (gulp) it takes on a more personal meaning. I did alter it just now, tightened it up a tad. but if I were to revise this I might try to capture a sense of abandonment and discard in this as well as broken down reclamation.

The Circle in Things

there,
the solitary barn.
a shadow,
in a sea of shifting gold.
Its emptiness
interrupted but highlighted
by the dual breath of rot and growth,
As two points pull together,
collapsing inward,
it is easy to see
the circle in things.

I'll save the old lyrics for another day. they're mostly terrible. i went through a 'mellencamp' phase. the writing did not age well. I never really finished any of them, all rough drafts and embryonic seeds. I was hoping to find my first song i ever wrote. alas I could not. it was in the spirit of BOC's godzilla. I called it Clitoris Rex. I think it's better left lost.