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.
Who walked
its once lovely
halls?
Who, now, haunts
these battered
walls?
Trapped
forever
in loneliness,
and must.
Pity,
I feel for
he, who
haunts
this House.
This poem was written in 1983 and published in the Spring 1984 issue of Metanoia, the Montgomery High School creative writing magazine. What colour is God? A child with milk mustache asks. Does God have a colour? Is the reply. Mother looks at her young offspring. A loving look met by confused eyes. Is God…
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…
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…
Written the summer of 1984 in reaction to losing my Grandmother. I found out just before leaving for the airport to be an exchange student in England. By the time I returned 9 weeks later, everyone else had had a chance to attend the funeral, find closure and move on. I hadn’t. It took me…
I first learned about Haiku — a Japanese form of poetry — when I was in the second grade. I remember being fascinated by the rigid structure — three lines, 5-7-5 syllables — and simple structure. As a part of that class work, I wrote the following: Swaying blooming rose Red rose sways blooms wind…
This poem was written Feb. 20, 1991. You are most beautiful And my love for you is strong As strong as the stone from which you are made Voluptuous and cold Smooth and hard Your marble curves carefully lovingly made from the images of a dream In the image of The Goddess I made you…