my observations on everything right and wrong with the world - starting with myself.
Thursday, February 03, 2005
Before, during, and shortly after being a student at UCLA, I wrote a lot of poetry. Not many people know this.
The poetry was written mostly in reaction to how my infatuation was treating me at the time...usually, pretty poorly - I made a pretty good doormat. I've come a long way since those days...and as my situation improved, my poetry started becoming happier (not necessarily better, creatively speaking, per se)...and once I felt that I had found what I had been looking for, I stopped writing poetry altogether.
But nevertheless, I've got lots of poetry written down. For me, they capture a lot of angst and anticipation that I was never able to physically or vocally express...
anyway, here's an example:
****
ouch
I know you don’t
but I persisted
I saw the signs
but I didn’t digress
I saw the light
but I’m still in the dark
I’ve traveled places
but I’m still here
I’ve heard it all
but I didn’t listen
because I thought you did
or so it seemed.
My reality was
infinitely strange
because what I believed
was never real
I tried so hard
to be myself
and keep it real
at least to me
but you threw me off
and told me no
or at least that’s what
it sounded like
but I know what you meant
and I know how you feel
so there’s really nothing
that I can do
to change your mind
about liking me
so I’ll keep my eyes closed
because the truth hurts sometimes.
****
and for those of you who insist that poetry has to rhyme:
****
the gall
How ironic could it be
that the word that made you speak to me
was none other than ‘audacity’
even though my displays of affrontery
were marked with silent timidity
so I chose to express casually
what I would have said with bravery
and when we spoke I tried to see
any chance opportunity
for me to hold you momentarily
and let you know what you mean to me
but my indecisive personality
couldn’t think of any strategy
(though I’m sure that you agree
that an act like that has to be
out of spontaneity)
so I do nothing, don’t you see?
But I don’t want you mistaking me
because my nonchalance is obviously
something I’ve been pondering recently
and I have to say that honestly
I want you to know my true identity
before I do something irrationally
and change what’s between you and me.
So please forgive my simplicity
in showing you what you mean to me
because what I don’t do visibly
I hope I’ve explained poetically.
****
I'm just wondering if it's worth hunting an agent down to submit all of my poetry for publishing?
Wouldn't that be funny? A poetry-publishing systems integration engineer working for a major defense contractor and lives in the paragon of middle-class suburbia with his wife and child. It's almost funnier than an out-of-work telecommunications engineer who finds success out of drawing cartoons which lampoon his former coworkers and corporate workplace...
The poetry was written mostly in reaction to how my infatuation was treating me at the time...usually, pretty poorly - I made a pretty good doormat. I've come a long way since those days...and as my situation improved, my poetry started becoming happier (not necessarily better, creatively speaking, per se)...and once I felt that I had found what I had been looking for, I stopped writing poetry altogether.
But nevertheless, I've got lots of poetry written down. For me, they capture a lot of angst and anticipation that I was never able to physically or vocally express...
anyway, here's an example:
****
ouch
I know you don’t
but I persisted
I saw the signs
but I didn’t digress
I saw the light
but I’m still in the dark
I’ve traveled places
but I’m still here
I’ve heard it all
but I didn’t listen
because I thought you did
or so it seemed.
My reality was
infinitely strange
because what I believed
was never real
I tried so hard
to be myself
and keep it real
at least to me
but you threw me off
and told me no
or at least that’s what
it sounded like
but I know what you meant
and I know how you feel
so there’s really nothing
that I can do
to change your mind
about liking me
so I’ll keep my eyes closed
because the truth hurts sometimes.
****
and for those of you who insist that poetry has to rhyme:
****
the gall
How ironic could it be
that the word that made you speak to me
was none other than ‘audacity’
even though my displays of affrontery
were marked with silent timidity
so I chose to express casually
what I would have said with bravery
and when we spoke I tried to see
any chance opportunity
for me to hold you momentarily
and let you know what you mean to me
but my indecisive personality
couldn’t think of any strategy
(though I’m sure that you agree
that an act like that has to be
out of spontaneity)
so I do nothing, don’t you see?
But I don’t want you mistaking me
because my nonchalance is obviously
something I’ve been pondering recently
and I have to say that honestly
I want you to know my true identity
before I do something irrationally
and change what’s between you and me.
So please forgive my simplicity
in showing you what you mean to me
because what I don’t do visibly
I hope I’ve explained poetically.
****
I'm just wondering if it's worth hunting an agent down to submit all of my poetry for publishing?
Wouldn't that be funny? A poetry-publishing systems integration engineer working for a major defense contractor and lives in the paragon of middle-class suburbia with his wife and child. It's almost funnier than an out-of-work telecommunications engineer who finds success out of drawing cartoons which lampoon his former coworkers and corporate workplace...
