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Of Poetry & Prose, and Then What Ever It Is I Do Pt. 2

May 20, 2012

Imagine if you will my Cat’s & Kitten’s, if you can oh my most competent readers, that I’m not this ol’ cantankerous, clankity, assholeyish, fist ready, sin soaked, dysfunctional unit. Instead let’s imagine me as I was earlier in life, as a young fresh unit, inherent flaws not yet exposed, not yet fissured under the coming pressures. This little Unit(a part of me that still exists in it’s own way)liked animals, nature(I wanted to be a biologist), plants, flowers, stories, and poems, puzzles, games, crosswords, chess(still suck due to lack of patience) even dabbled in stamp and insect collections lol…of course these things aren’t a boy’s best friend, especially bigger boys who look like they might someday play football or some other real mans past time…oh it is to laugh.

A lot of this little Units ideas about who he was are lost to me now( I only remembered about the stamp and insect collections while typing [I actually had to stop typing and almost went and told Lil’ Mouse so I didn’t ferget, but she’s still sleeping, and as I went it dawned on me I’d just typed it down…])but this is about poetry so lets get back to that…

I remember in general  that I loved the gentle fun of poetry, it’s often (in kids poems especially) twist on words, meanings, puns,  word play in general.  I remember specifically and most my enjoyment of Ogden Nash(OMG you bastards I jes remembered how I used to go around reciting Shel Silverstien’s Boa Constrictor)  and now obviously I must have been familiar with and enjoyed Shel Silverstien (I did buy his books of poetry for my own kids but…and…anyway…) I’m going to get off of talking about little Unit ’cause this is gonna make me puke if I keep having these memories regurgitating up like this…

This is just about Poetry…I know I wrote a lot of poetry…not only in my memory but part of the collective family memory, those stories passed along such as “You were always a happy child.” It is yer memory about yerself, but is it truly something I “remember” or just know (though this is true about me, as much still now as it was then[or so I’ve been told] because the weird thing is even when I’m sad, I’m happy to be sad fer awhile)…and see poetry fits with this little unit perfectly

Unfortunately, call it fate God’s plan whatever,the now growing Unit’s family was not as fond of poetry and or poetic type people (and all the rest that came with the above…oh it is to laugh).

So let’s jump a bunch of years (mainly cause I don’t remember and don’t wanna sit here and possibly do so). The next poet I really remember was in High School (ya know back in that English class where you learned about the poem that was shaped like an umbrella or atom bomb and ya thought that was really cool)when I was introduced to ee cummings. I was of course one of those troubled (but also still in general “happy” figure that out lol)high school units who wrote poetry, the kind well meaning young female English teachers take a shine to and pass on enough positives to explode an already overly intrigueable mind..wow it’s too bad you will never see the previous sentence in it’s pre-edited form…lol, a complete mystery even to me. But I’m sure the time this is posted it will be fixed.

The point is I was of course growing in my “social awareness” and my well meaning teacher draws my attention to this

Buffalo Bill's

defunct

        who used to

        ride a watersmooth-silver

                                  stallion

and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat

                                                  Jesus

he was a handsome man

                      and what i want to know is

how do you like your blueeyed boy

Mister Death

Okay this not only had me saying “Yea!  What do ya have to say Mr. Man?” But also “hey I like the way he writes poetry.”  and like many young poets after first reading ee I began to write all my poems in lower case (lol, I did, and I stuck with it fer years, even down to the lower case i).

Here’s one of the poems from this period, notice the similarities (except mine was condensed from a lines written during a mushroom tripp)

I continued to write poetry, but I was also in theater and was one of the leading “men” in our school productions. I was also beginning to dabble in drugs and alcohol, had already spent more than one night on the street(by the end of h.s. I did not live at my parents and siblings home [many nights I slept on the beach and walked the three or so miles to school]). I was also a fan of this new fun, angry, anti man, intellectually quirky music called punk. And fer awhile my poetry became lyrics and combined with my natural clown like public persona (and almost acceptable singing voice)I was a natural to front bands. So poetry of course took a back seat ’cause I was sure I was going to be famous(rich was secondary in my head it was fame I craved)…I mean I was sure of it…lololol….(praise Jesus of course in hind sight that it was not to be and that God had other plans in store fer me).

One Response to “Of Poetry & Prose, and Then What Ever It Is I Do Pt. 2”


  1. WOW. You are really digging down and trying to figure out all of the connective tissue that makes you who you are as a person, and who you are as a writer.

    This is fearless. I can’t wait to read the next part. That’s where I’m going right now!


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