Posts tagged ‘poem’
MY ATTEMPT AT WRITING POETRY
wrote the following poem in remembrance of my grandmother.
Published by New Worlds Unlimited in 1982 in their anthology, Dreams of the Heroic Muse.
ROSES
Roses were her love,
Great flowing rainbows of pink, red and white.
Her children, small strangers would come
And each take home
A fist full of gaily colored affection.
Roses were her love,
And when rest had finally come from roses
Roses were hers,
Elegant creations of empty colors
Looking out on empty eyes.
Roses were her love,
And now her small garden
Has yet to discover
A rose.
I have a few different series of posts in progress: published and unpublished poems, published and unpublished short stories and views of how life has changed looking back from old age.
You will also come across the occasional essay.
Hope you enjoy these various posts.
MY ATTEMPT AT WRITING POETRY: THE WANDERER
What follows is my first published poem, published by The Shore Publishing Co. in their anthology, Shore Poetry Anthology, in 1973.
THE WANDERER
Hair matted and long
Face overgrown with mustache and beard
He walks down the city streets alone
A broken man,
He stumbles about in the dead of night
With only a ragged coat to keep out the cold
And cheap wine his only refuge.
Perhaps he once dreamt
A dreamer of dreams
And a victim of fate,
For the greatest and lowliest man are of the same stock
Dreamers all,
The only difference being God’s frown
Or smile.
MY ATTEMPT AT WRITING POETRY
This poem was never published. I’m sure the
places where I usually sought publication would
not welcome it.
TWO LOVERS
She fondles the syringe
As she was once fondled
By a lover long ago
For this is her love now.
The product of her first love
Gently moves within,
The product of her new love
Scars arms and thighs.
Her child kicks,
Struggling for life,
She forgets the past
As the child is robbed of a future.
She sends her new love coursing her veins,
The child trembles then is still.
All is quiet as the night begins,
All is quiet,
As the endless night begins.
MY ATTEMPT AT WRITING POETRY
This poem was published in Quality American Poetry, 1975-1976, Book III.
The anthology was published by Valley Publications and edited by William Lloyd Griffin.
SUNDAY PARK BENCH
Alone,
Rumpled newspaper in hand
Sits the old man,
Cold morning air sends a chill
Through a heavy overcoat,
Sunday morning light filtering
Through burnished leaves of autumn
Kindling thoughts of Sundays long gone,
Waking next to his wife,
The sound of children filling the house;
Now children grown – wife gone,
Sunday mornings bring only rumpled papers
On a park bench,
MY ATTEMPT AT WRITING POETRY CLOUDS
Clouds was published in 1974. The title of the anthology was, Quality American Poetry Book II. The title of this anthology, quite a stretch. The publisher was Valley Publications edited by William Lloyd Griffin.
CLOUDS
I reach for clouds
High, ever so high do I soar,
Clutching – grasping – then tumbling back.
Clouds are but wisps of vapor,
Phantoms in the sky,
Who can touch a cloud?
I try – fail – then try again;
At times mind joins clouds – soaring,
While I stay behind exposed to the cold – stumbling.
One day mind and soul shall soar skyward
And beyond;
Leaving behind a shell – falling,
Never again to rise,
And reach for a cloud.
MY ATTEMPT AT WRITING POETRY
MY ATTEPT AT WRITING POETRY
I think, in the remote passages of my brain, I have always wanted to be a writer. There was something about holding a pencil and recording ideas and stories I found appealing.
I eventually chose science as a career. But long before I knew science was the path I would follow, I began writing. My first attempt at writing was poetry and had my first poem published while in high school. I wrote a poem for acceptance in a high school poetry anthology. My friends thought it was a good poem, but my English teacher did not. She changed the end of the poem to something I thought ruined it, but it was published.
While in college and beyond I continued and continue to write poetry. I had quite a few poems published by little-known publishers in even lesser-known publications. One publisher published at least one poem of mine in a yearly anthology for fourteen years. While publishing poetry I adhered to a principle I continue to this day. I will never pay to have something I have written published.
I now write science fiction and horror and have for the last twenty-three years, and still, the occasional poem.
What follows will be a series of published poems.
Hope you find some enjoyment in them.
SNOW, A WINTER POEM
I offer this poem, for obvious reasons, when it snows. In the area of Pennsylvania where I live, we have just had our first measurable snow in almost two years. So, it’s time has once again arrived.
This poem was inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s, The Bells.
THE SNOW
See the delicate snowflakes fall,
Falling, falling, falling.
Whitening the earth, waiting below,
Falling, falling, falling.
See the mounds of glittering white,
Building, building, building.
As they hide the ground from our sight,
Building, building, building.
See the ceaseless falling snow,
Falling, falling, falling.
Will it stop, no one quite knows,
Falling, falling, falling.
See the drifts accumulate,
Building, building, building.
My longing for spring intensely waits,
Building, building, building.
SEE THE DAMNED WHITE BLANKET GROW,
HIDING, HIDING, HIDING.
MY CAR, MY LAWN, ALL I KNOW,
HIDING, HIDING, HIDING.
SEE MY MADNESS, MY URGE TO KILL,
GROWING, GROWING, GROWING,
CROSS MY PATH, AND I’LL DO YOU ILL,
SMILING, SMILING, SMILING.
POEMS @ FLEETING THOUGHTS
These are the thoughts of an old man as the world sees me. I feel I am younger than they think. Reality has not yet caught up to me.
NO GOING BACK
These are the thoughts of an old man as the world sees me. I feel I am younger than they think. Reality has not yet caught up to me. NO GOING BACK
I want to go back
To right my wrongs,
I want to go back
To enjoy the moments
The best moments
Of my life,
I want to go back
To appreciate the good
And try to obliterate
The bad,
I know this a dream Impossible,
But in dreams
My desires Are accomplished.
POEMS & FLEETING THOUGHTS
VALUE
When you can buy
Anything you desire
Those possessions
No longer have
Value.
POEMS & FLEETING THOUGHTS
When you can purchase whatever you desire
Those possessions no longer
Have value.p
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