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I do not go to the dark place.
It must be a beautiful place
filled
with shadows
and confusion/ uncertainty
and field of wildflowers
whispering jokes
above the tall grass
along a slow-moving old river
I do not go to the dark place.
The
words come to me on their own
and I listen to them
until they lose their strength.
Poet Cynthia Rylant
I was afraid of writing
poetry for the longest time because I wasn't any good at rhyming, and
I thought poetry had to be complicated and very, very deep. I didn't know
that the very way I looked at things was poetry. I mean, I notice things
other people don't and usually it has something to do with the way one
small thing means so much.
I once met a boy who had read my book of poems about growing up in Beaver,
West Virginia (Waiting to Waltz...A Childhood) and he said to me, "I
know just what you mean about Todd's Hardware Store. Every time I walk
into the Western Auto Store in this little town I live in ... "And
he proceeded to describe to me what it was about the Western Auto Store
that hit him the way a good sunset hits you and I thought to myself, this
boy's a poet. I believe he was born with that way of looking at things,
as I was, and even if he never writes one single line of poetry, he'll
always be a poet. And the people around him will mutter about how intense
he can get sometimes and his teachers will complain about how he never
pays enough attention and people will wonder why he can't just lighten
up and watch "The Cosby Show" with them.
What they don't understand is that he's seeing all those small, meaningful
things they're missing, and it sucks away so much of your soul and energy
when you're trying to make sense of what you see with your poet's heart.
They will want him to be a regular Joe and he will never be able to be
that and because of it he will feel lonelier than most people-even though
he may be a popular boy-and he will wonder why he can't live a normal
life like everybody else. He will wonder why he hurts so much sometimes.
Why he feels so different from everybody else who's just fitting right
in to all the systems: everybody else who's getting the gold stars at
school, or marrying and settling into a nice job in a nice town and finding
a nice wife and having four nice kids and keeping a nice lawn and a nice
clean car. He will to often feel like a failure, and he will to often
never pick up a pen and try to get published because he doesn't know what
a good poet he is since there's no test that told him so. A lot of people
think they can write poetry, and many do, because they can figure out
how to line up the words, or make certain sounds rhyme, or just imitate
the other poets they've read. But this boy, he's the real poet, because
when he tries to put on paper what he's seen with his heart, he will believe
deep down there are no good words for it, no words can do it, and at that
moment he will have begun to write poetry.
I see a shadow hitchhiking I see a shadow hitchhiking expecting
to meet the devil at the crossroads I decide what to carry what to abandon I
see myself good & bad and
the story's coming in the dust and
if I'm honest the
reflected moon is not whole |
young soul losing young soul losing your
soul losing herself tall guitar
playing on a street later I
want to hug (protect) her |
Poetry by Shel Silverstein
| Hector
the Collector Hector the Collector Collected bits of string, Collected dolls with broken heads and rusty bells that would not ring. Pieces out of picture puzzles, Bent-up nails and ice-cream sticks, Twists of wires, worn-out tires, Paper bags and broken bricks. Old chipped vases, half shoelaces, Gatlin' guns that wouldn't shoot, Leaky boats that wouldn't float And stopped-up horns that wouldn't toot. Butter knives that had no handles, Copper keys that fit no locks, Rings that were too small for fingers, Dried-up leaves and patched-up socks. Worn-out belts that had no tracks, Airplane models, broken bottles, Three-legged chairs and cups with cracks. Hector
the Collector |
Listen
to the MUSTN'TS
Listen
to the MUSTN'TS, child |
|
|
My Way I'm more myself then I've ever been, but it feels like I'm always on the outside trying to get a look in. Searching for something- scared of what I might find. Given the chance Given the time Tomorrow has become a very persistent today, and I sit here contemplating when and where I lost my way. Life's to short to let it pass on by- Seek your happiness Seek your why's I'm thinking things I've never though before. Realizing there's a bigger world out there waiting on me right outside that door. I have the courage to open it just not sure where to go- Go where your heart points Go where your wind blows Tomorrow has become a very persistent today, and I sit here contemplating where and how to find my way. Life's to short, but it won't pass me by- There's still laughs to laugh There's still tears to cry I'm not sure if all my goals I met, but I walk down this road called life, and I have no regrets I only have one chance to get it right I can't win all the battles, but I can fight the good fight. Tomorrow has become a very persistent today, and I sit here contemplating if and when I found my way. Life's to short, but it can't pass me by- because I'll keep living till the day I die - Dana Carpenter 1-22-02 |
Awakened A beaded curtain silhouetted on the white plaster wall, while a phone in the distance rings forth a long distance call. A moment of revelation and before me I saw a world of barriers crumble and fall. In this moment of clarity my future became clear there is nothing hindering me nothing but fear. Take away the sorrow it does not belong here. Get ready everybody, my time is near! For all you non-believers, I hope you've put your doubts aside. I'm here to leave a mark with adversity as my guide. Here I come, there's nowhere to hide! |