After bouncing around the blogosphere recently, I discovered that April is National Poetry Month. Many folks are out there penning works that would rival those of Dickenson or Poe, and it’s inspiring to read. Poetry, like art, is so diverse and personal that it can be perceived as perfection by some and garbage by others.
I dabbled a bit in the world of poetry back in the day. I was fresh out of high school, scared of the future, and desperate for a girlfriend; all the ingredients for a big ol’ pot of teenage angst. Over the course of about 6 months, I carried around a black sketch book filled with crisp, clean white pages, waiting for inspiration to strike me. This morning, I cracked open that black book to see what was inside.
As it turns out, it seems the only subject that led me to put pen to paper was that of the opposite sex. There were poems about girls I liked. Poems about girls that didn’t like me. Even poems about girls that liked other girls…or was that a dream? I don’t know, I was a 17-year-old boy…what do you expect?
Anyway, I thought I’d go out on a limb here this morning and bear my soul with you. Or at least the soul of the teenage version of myself; which looking back on it, seems like a completely different person. Here are two poems straight out of my “Book of Thoughts, Poems and Dreams”, as I felt the need to title it. The first is about the bond of friendship between myself and my best friend from high school. The second is a bit more light-hearted; a tribute to my love of the game of golf. Enjoy!
The Gathering of TwoTwo men stand together at the brink of something new. How did they arrive here? Neither can answer without the other’s words. Their paths have crossed and become one, but rocks and brush have led each astray one time or another. Two men stand, different but the same, at the brink of something new. How have they made it this far? Like a swinging pendulum they have been there for each other. When one has stumbled, the other has picked him up. In turn, he who stumbled first has been there when the pendulum swung the other way. The gathering of these two men, like the trees in the forest or the clouds in the sky, brings together what no one can tear apart. ———————————————————————
Eighteen LivesI stand silent on the tee. Staring out, what do I see? A field of green calls to me. I choose a club, or does it choose me? My hands join and become one. I take dead aim as if wielding a gun. I turn away as if to shun this marvel of nature, warm from the sun. Now I turn back with relative ease. My swing is steady like an autumn breeze. The club makes contact, and away from the trees the ball sails like a ship on the seas. If a golf hole mimics life and birth is a perfect drive, then death I do not fear – making me more alive. You see while most only get one, and cats get four plus five, I’m only on the 1st hole so I’ve still got seventeen lives.
Have you tried your hand at poetry before? Care to share a sample with the group? What did you think of mine? We’re all friends here, don’t be afraid to share.