(2002)
Orphaned children
anticipating adoption,
stray puppies at the SPCA,
lonely hearts
left
forgotten.
Notes and photos,
newspaper clippings paperclipped
to beginnings and endings and
in-betweenings;
filed away in folders
to be finished when the muse strikes.
Passionate ideas penned
in the heat of thought—
good, bad, mediocre, brilliant—
that someday
Showing posts with label Y2K. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Y2K. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
The Sculptor
(2002)
A blank block of granite—
impassive, impartial;
an empty page.
Chopping out chunks of it—
imperfect in form,
complete in his mind.
Carefully chiseling it,
(cutting and chipping, routing and clipping)
improving rough places,
(smoothing and rubbing, sanding and scrubbing)
perfecting detail.
Illuminating light;
imparting, impressive—
time bound in form.
A blank block of granite—
impassive, impartial;
an empty page.
Chopping out chunks of it—
imperfect in form,
complete in his mind.
Carefully chiseling it,
(cutting and chipping, routing and clipping)
improving rough places,
(smoothing and rubbing, sanding and scrubbing)
perfecting detail.
Illuminating light;
imparting, impressive—
time bound in form.
Attempts at Haiku
(2002)
Writing Haiku
Pencil, paper, pen—
Heart and mind and soul revealed—
Words strung on a line.
Adventure (for Catherine)
Uncharted forest;
Father, daughter hand in hand
Find new paths to test.
Sky Dance
Puffy, pillowy clouds
Leaving shadows on the ground;
Light plays in between.
Melancholia (originally untitled)
Cold breeze blows through trees.
Black bird dead on needled bed.
Clear sky—blue—asks why.
Writing Haiku
Pencil, paper, pen—
Heart and mind and soul revealed—
Words strung on a line.
Adventure (for Catherine)
Uncharted forest;
Father, daughter hand in hand
Find new paths to test.
Sky Dance
Puffy, pillowy clouds
Leaving shadows on the ground;
Light plays in between.
Melancholia (originally untitled)
Cold breeze blows through trees.
Black bird dead on needled bed.
Clear sky—blue—asks why.
Christmas Past
(December 9, 2002)
I wrote this as a Christmas "card" for a writing group I had the pleasure of being a part of. The group met monthly at the local Barnes & Noble. I was working 2 jobs (Waffle House nights and Applebee's days) and would give up my afternoon nap to attend. I couldn't sleep. My mind would continue to buzz after these creative, critiquing sessions!
Traditions remembered,
Memories enshrined;
Futures envisioned,
Pasts left behind.
Greeting card feelings,
Sentiments opined;
Gift giving lost meaning,
Wantonness fine dined.
Secular icons,
Religion maligned;
Material embraced,
The Spirit resigned.
Brilliance is dangled—
Invitations to blind.
Illumination replaced,
Truth redefined.
One chorus forgotten:
Perfection designed
For peace on this earth,
Good will to mankind.
I wrote this as a Christmas "card" for a writing group I had the pleasure of being a part of. The group met monthly at the local Barnes & Noble. I was working 2 jobs (Waffle House nights and Applebee's days) and would give up my afternoon nap to attend. I couldn't sleep. My mind would continue to buzz after these creative, critiquing sessions!
Traditions remembered,
Memories enshrined;
Futures envisioned,
Pasts left behind.
Greeting card feelings,
Sentiments opined;
Gift giving lost meaning,
Wantonness fine dined.
Secular icons,
Religion maligned;
Material embraced,
The Spirit resigned.
Brilliance is dangled—
Invitations to blind.
Illumination replaced,
Truth redefined.
One chorus forgotten:
Perfection designed
For peace on this earth,
Good will to mankind.
Creative Writing
(July 2002)
Flat.
An endless expanse of white sand;
Not a soul in sight.
Point to it, Prophet Man,
point to it!
Point!
Dry.
Ah! And less. Lax. Pensive. Wise stand—
yet—they’re bones of white.
Speak to it, Prophet man,
speak to it!
Speak!
Flesh—
an end? Less expensive. Why tease and
toy with soulless might?
Breathe on it, Prophet Man,
breathe on it.
Breathe.
Sky—
and endless—expansive. Why, it is and
soulful. Dark and light.
Write it, Prophet Man,
write it!
Write!
Flat.
An endless expanse of white sand;
Not a soul in sight.
Point to it, Prophet Man,
point to it!
Point!
Dry.
Ah! And less. Lax. Pensive. Wise stand—
yet—they’re bones of white.
Speak to it, Prophet man,
speak to it!
Speak!
Flesh—
an end? Less expensive. Why tease and
toy with soulless might?
Breathe on it, Prophet Man,
breathe on it.
Breathe.
Sky—
and endless—expansive. Why, it is and
soulful. Dark and light.
Write it, Prophet Man,
write it!
Write!
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Dog On A Chain
(May 7, 2002)
Wow!
Look at this! Look at that!
What’sthatsmell?
What’sThatsmell?
What’sTHATsmell?
It’s...it’s...it’s...it’s...
Whoa!
A ball!
Get the ball! Get the ball! Get the ball!
Hey, hey, hey, hey
this, this, this
is, is, is
Hmm...?
Where
does
this...
Gotta run, gotta run, gotta run...
Wow!
Look at that!
Wow!
Look at this!
What’sthatsmell?What’sThatsmell?
What’sTHATsmell?
Aaah...
Gotta run, gotta run, gotta
Whoops
Okay.
Anyway.
Okay?
Sigh...
What?
What’s that?
It’s a cat!
It’s a cat!
Get the cat!
Get the cat!
Get the ca
Cat! Cat!
Cat! Cat!
Okay.
Okay.
Anyway.
Anyway.
Need to
drink some
water.
Need to
drink some
water.
Gotta run
(gotta run)
Gotta run
(gotta run)
Gotta run
(gotta
Anyway.
Anyway.
Anyway.
Sigh...
Wow!
Look at this! Look at that!
What’sthatsmell?
What’sThatsmell?
What’sTHATsmell?
It’s...it’s...it’s...it’s...
Whoa!
A ball!
Get the ball! Get the ball! Get the ball!
Hey, hey, hey, hey
this, this, this
is, is, is
Hmm...?
Where
does
this...
Gotta run, gotta run, gotta run...
Wow!
Look at that!
Wow!
Look at this!
What’sthatsmell?What’sThatsmell?
What’sTHATsmell?
Aaah...
Gotta run, gotta run, gotta
Whoops
Okay.
Anyway.
Okay?
Sigh...
What?
What’s that?
It’s a cat!
It’s a cat!
Get the cat!
Get the cat!
Get the ca
Cat! Cat!
Cat! Cat!
Okay.
Okay.
Anyway.
Anyway.
Need to
drink some
water.
Need to
drink some
water.
Gotta run
(gotta run)
Gotta run
(gotta run)
Gotta run
(gotta
Anyway.
Anyway.
Anyway.
Sigh...
Gray and Gritty
(May 4, 2002)
Stanley and his wife delivered the Sunday paper. They always came into the Waffle House just before I finished the night shift. He would give me a copy of the paper and always ordered the same thing. To most people he didn't seem very friendly, but he and I got along just fine.
In memory of Stanley Alligood
August 20, 1939-May 2, 2002
“If he liked you, he liked you;
if he didn’t, he didn’t.”
Gray and gritty darkening dawn
brought the Sunday paper loosely covered
with plastic.
Ambled over, shuffled greeting;
over medium, coffee black.
Graveled joking
understood in
gleaming mischievous eyes
(mistaken meanness).
Wink a wink.
Grin a grin.
Heh!
Gray and gritty darkening dawn;
aluminum foil folded tightly over
leftover ham.
Shuffled out, muffled grouch;
hearty heartfelt
“Take it easy, boss.”
Shed a tear.
Wink a wink.
Grin a grin.
Heh heh.
Stanley and his wife delivered the Sunday paper. They always came into the Waffle House just before I finished the night shift. He would give me a copy of the paper and always ordered the same thing. To most people he didn't seem very friendly, but he and I got along just fine.
In memory of Stanley Alligood
August 20, 1939-May 2, 2002
“If he liked you, he liked you;
if he didn’t, he didn’t.”
Gray and gritty darkening dawn
brought the Sunday paper loosely covered
with plastic.
Ambled over, shuffled greeting;
over medium, coffee black.
Graveled joking
understood in
gleaming mischievous eyes
(mistaken meanness).
Wink a wink.
Grin a grin.
Heh!
Gray and gritty darkening dawn;
aluminum foil folded tightly over
leftover ham.
Shuffled out, muffled grouch;
hearty heartfelt
“Take it easy, boss.”
Shed a tear.
Wink a wink.
Grin a grin.
Heh heh.
Moving
(September 2001)
Wasn't very happy in the current job situation, but didn't know what else to do.
Dull and labored footfalls echo
echo in the empty halls that
turn upon themselves,
that turn upon themselves.
Dust clogs the pores of the paintings
on the walls and the cracks
and the crevices of collected curios
cluttering the hall.
Now, looking out the window
looking in at
looking out the window
looking in at
the carpet looks greener than the grass:
Is the grass greener
on the floor that hasn’t been mown?
(Was that a mixed or melded metaphor?)
Renovate or relocate.
Wasn't very happy in the current job situation, but didn't know what else to do.
Dull and labored footfalls echo
echo in the empty halls that
turn upon themselves,
that turn upon themselves.
Dust clogs the pores of the paintings
on the walls and the cracks
and the crevices of collected curios
cluttering the hall.
Now, looking out the window
looking in at
looking out the window
looking in at
the carpet looks greener than the grass:
Is the grass greener
on the floor that hasn’t been mown?
(Was that a mixed or melded metaphor?)
Renovate or relocate.
Caged Angels
I don't have a date on this one. The title was inspired by a painting of Peter in jail and angels outside the bars to rescue him. The perspective is from inside the cell, so the angels appear to be inprisoned. The poem itself is about writing poetry.
A glimpse,
A glimmer
Out of the corner of my eye.
A word.
A whisper.
Cherubim flicking the back of my mind.
Floating.
Flirting.
Get the net and catch ‘em,
Paste ‘em on a page.
A glimpse,
A glimmer
Out of the corner of my eye.
A word.
A whisper.
Cherubim flicking the back of my mind.
Floating.
Flirting.
Get the net and catch ‘em,
Paste ‘em on a page.
Between The Lines
(somewhere between 2000-2004)
I wrote this after hearing about a suicide.
I left it up to you
to explain
my departure;
to conjecture
the reason I left.
I didn't give a reason,
didn't have a reason;
reasoned that I had
too many reasons;
but you can sort it out.
My life is out of control
and I can't control
what I can't control
(but I'm in control).
I leave it to you to handle what's left:
What's left of my head
on this page or the pillow.
Think of me always this way—
that I've left what was left
of my life too fearful or fed up or fouled up
to live.
I wrote this after hearing about a suicide.
I left it up to you
to explain
my departure;
to conjecture
the reason I left.
I didn't give a reason,
didn't have a reason;
reasoned that I had
too many reasons;
but you can sort it out.
My life is out of control
and I can't control
what I can't control
(but I'm in control).
I leave it to you to handle what's left:
What's left of my head
on this page or the pillow.
Think of me always this way—
that I've left what was left
of my life too fearful or fed up or fouled up
to live.
Into Y2K
The year 2000 and beyond. Job changes. Developing marriage. 9/11. Church split. More issues, more questions. I spent some time away from church...away from God. During this time, I continued to write. A co-worker read some of my poetry and asked me to write song lyrics for her. That resulted in "Broken, Bruised, and Bleeding", several lyrics relating the story of a woman in an abusive relationship. I also wrote lyrics based on the book Johnny Got His Gun. I'll think about posting those in separate sections.
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