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…
Written in 1983. Home is where the heart is, I hear people say. But home is something much more. Home is where the joy is. Home is the constant happiness in a changing, hurting world. But I left Home long ago. A Home of grass lands and animals. A Home of many colours in many…
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…
Another poem written during my creative writing special course. My teacher liked it, but now that I read it I know it needs some work. New jeans are nice, but old jeans are better. Old shoes are nice, but new shoes are better. Why do they insist on new jeans and old shoes, When anyone…
Written in February 1983. I am trapped within this cage. I can’t see or feel the cage, but I sense its presence. Is it me? Is it my peers? Is it life? Why can’t I fly? I want to be free! But how can one escape from something unseen, and untouchable? How can one be…
The imagery of a lonely old house always grabs me. I take pictures of them when I see them. And they often put in an appearance in my writing. Here’s a case in point. Towering, it stands. Long driveway spirals down the hill. Forbidding, it sits on Grecian poles. Dark and lonely are its windows….
1983 was a year a great angst for me. I wanted so much to have a boyfriend … didn’t happen. I was having issues with friends … my ADD-induced social cluelessness didn’t help. So, a lot of my poetry from that year deals with love and frustration and teen angst. This poem is no different….
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…
This poem, an English class assignment when I was a Junior in High School, was eventually published, at the cost of $35, in the American Poetry Anthology 1986 — my first published poem. It was written in 1983. A tear is a bird set free from its cage of sorrow. The wolf’s lonely cry in…
Written in 1983. I stretch for endless miles. My brethren stretch out beside me. I have many visitors. Yet I am always alone. Bubble gum and cigarette butts on my belly, Dirt on my back, I lie and watch the creatures who forever traverse my stomach. The old lady who pushes a cart Cares about…