is the nighttime sky
that I am blinded
by the stars
by the moon.
Twenty years ago, I couldn’t imagine that I’d be sitting at my computer, sharing with the entire world, this fact: in my senior year of high school, I spent six months writing at least one poem every day as a project for my senior enrichment class. Even though poetry was my preferred genre at the time, this project was far more difficult for me than more recent projects like NaNoWriMo. It was downright grueling.
I realize now that the difficulty wasn’t in the act of writing, but in the subject matter itself. Much of my writing was about things beyond the usual teenage angst, exploring much tougher subjects that were happening to me and those around me. Even in those days, the lives of those I cared about were touched by devastating losses and my writing often reflected that sense of loss, as it still sometimes does. As I’ve turned to writing more fiction, I find it easier to express those hurts with a certain amount of detachment that is not possible when writing poetry.
Most of what I wrote for that particular project will, I think, never see the light of day and continues to remain in existence only so that I may preserve that part of my journey as a writer. While, for me, all poetry is personal, there are pieces from that period that are more presentable, more accessible, and probably more appealing to others who have not walked in my shoes. I share with you a couple of them here in this blog. Take from them what you will.
Horses frozen in mute agony
with nostrils flared and eyes of fright,
turned to stone by unseen Medusa.
Phantoms whirling and spinning,
flying frightfully to music macabre
as the world slips out of sight.
Horses gallop faster, twisted in fear,
til they keep their pace no more
and sink into a swirling tornado
of music, mirrors, and machines.
They twist to the tempo of terror,
until the elusive Medusa once again
silences them into terrified statutes.
(The above works are copyrighted and all rights reserved by the author, who can be a grumpy bitch. Do not reprint in any form without express written permission, which must be signed in blood – yours, not mine- and accompanied by an Egyptian curse should you ever fail to give credit to the author. Said curse may include, but is not limited to monstrous sandstorms swallowing your home, a plague of locust descending upon you, and the Nile trying to claim you as watery sacrifice. Did I mention the crocodile that will make a light snack of at least one of your limbs? I jest but you hopefully get the idea. If not, let me state it simply: don’t rip off my work and I won’t be forced to sue you mercilessly for copyright violations and/or plagiarism.)