P is for Poetry

When I was in high school, I wrote some poetry. Most of it as an assigned project. Most of it really bad. Here's an example. Try not to laugh milk out your nose...

First off, the title has nothing whatsoever to do with the actual poem. I wrote this when I was a freshman in high school and was heavy into Edgar Allen Poe. EAP had written a poem called "For ----", OK, I can't remember the woman's name and then the poem after had nothing to do with the title. I copied that model for my title. Andrew Harris was a good friend of mine and one of my powder puff coaches. (Andrew Harris of Clovis, CA - where are you?) There's a bunch of really super-cool spacing on my poem, too, but I doubt Blogger will let me keep it in. (ETA - it didn't. You'll have to experience it without cool spacing. I'm sure it'll make a difference. Not.)

OK. Here it is...

FOR ANDREW

Panther. Most beautiful cat in the world. Black and sleek.
Sensuous.
Stalking.
Gracefully stealing through the
night -- silently approaching. You never even see me -- I come up
behind you -- head low.
Ears back.
Green eyes taking every bit
of you -- sizing you up. I run my pink-rose tongue across gleaming
white fangs -- anticipating the sweet taste of your blood.
Claws extend.

Retract.

Haunches begin to flex. Muscles rippling,
bunching together -- ready to spring, to push off powerful back
legs in one graceful leap -- stretching lean body through the cool
night air -- landing on y-

Wait.

Muscles tense -- head snaps up
alertly. Black nose to the wind -- twitching. I smell danger
approaching, gun-powder. I consider pouncing on your oblivious
body. Ripping out the soft, delicate flesh of your throat with
deadly, sharp claws and dragging you away before you can scream,
before you can realize...

The Gun, however, is coming quickly. I could drag you away
before it would get here, but your innocence -- your ignorance of my
presence has appealed to me, amused me.
I turn and lope silently.

Swiftly away.

To safety. 20 yards
away -- inky pelt blending, melting with blue-black shadows -- I watch,
casually cleaning my heavily padded, feline paws.

Emerald seeing white.

I could have killed you, foolish, ignorant human -- but your mate
has come to you. He kisses you.
Holds you.
Protects you.
You are safe, my General Physical Enemy, safe with your Love.
Safe in your Love.

For now.

"my General Physical Enemy"??? Seriously. How awkward is that phrasing? What does it even mean?? Melodramatic much? So glad we didn't have girls for kids. I can only imagine having to deal with the kind of drama my parents must've been forced to deal with.

OK, enough drivel.

Here's an example of some really great poetry. I have a friend named Seth. We met while stationed in Germany in 1992. He writes this amazing poetry. I have a few of his pieces and they are all truly beautiful. The only problem is that he would write in pencil. And really lightly. He has this really lovely script, but, after 17 years (really?? 17?! Yikes!) it's starting to fade. I'm going to transfer one to the blogisphere today and when I find the others, I'll do the same. As to the actual piece... I'm thinking of having them laminated? What do y'all suggest?

Anyway, here it is...

Stumbling around in the Darkroom that is Life,
bumping into walls and Tripping over obstacles,
Your eyes become accustomed to the Dark.
Such is our Legacy.

On occasion, if you're Fortunate,
your Sight picks up two simple pinpoints of Light.
To most, they are overlooked or unnoticed.
But to those who are blind, they are beacons.

A world hidden to the Sightless once,
opens up to reveal happiness where none was
seen before. Suddenly Life has quality.

Oh, how they rejoice and cheer for those Lights
The eyes of some brilliant Soul.
Little do they realize they are transient.

All too soon, the light is gone.

So I say to you, you who have been blinded
by the darkness, when you do finally find
Those guiding eyes; Claw, Scream and
beg But do not let them out of your Sight,
else back to the Void you go...
--SFD--

Pretty cool, right? Love his stuff.

He sent me some pic's of us in Europe in 1992. The first is on the Subway in Paris and the second is at The Green Goose (a club geared toward US soldiers that we frequented).




How young we were, Ruth!