Written in 1984, this is another expression of my grief of losing my grandmother.
Loss.
A missing piece
of the puzzle.
A knot
in the throat.
A Demon
in the gut.
An unfulfilled need.
A missing.
A not there.
A silent scream.
Anger.
Grief.
Deprivement.
A barrier to cross
some day
Yet crossed by another
today.
For this poem, I created a specific syllable structure. It another experiment in structured poetry. It is not based on a real dream. I dreamed I was in a desert, alone. The wind swept dust all about me, but I was safe, in a cone of light and cool wind. Then I was in a…
This was written May 18, 1984. I stand alone, as I always will. Friends come and go, but all the while I stand alone. Just a molecule of air, am I, tossed about by the wind. I see, and know, and love others but they go and I see, know and love more. Always there…
In 1983, I did an independent study focused on my creative writing. I sat behind the teacher as he taught one class, and did my own thing. That’s why I have so much stuff to post from that year. During that course, I seemed quite fixated on war. The Boy was one result. This is…
Written in 1983. You see an apple. I see knowledge of a million years. You see a circle. I see life, death and rebirth. Why do two people see so differently? What makes one person see surface, while another sees depth? May this be a reason for war? Which insight is right? No one can…
Written in 1983. Cobwebs hang from the drawers. The empty seat covered with dust sits abandoned by the desk. Death now sits here looking at thirty desks aligned in six rows. No more do children laugh in this place. No more does teacher teach the students. The Apple perfectly red sits untouched by dust or…
Somehow I knew that guy I met New Year’s day would inspire poetry. I just didn’t think it would take this long to manifest. But I guess absence makes the heart grow fonder … or is that distressed? I sometimes forget. At first, I thought it would be his unique artistic photographs that would inspire…