Little Boy Lost

His name was Brandon

His hair curly blonde and his eye’s full of blue,

He came into our lives’ so little and new,

He grabbed at our hearts we all loved him too,

But he wasn’t ours to keep but just for a while,

He lived in our home and stayed a long while

We loved and we laughed and we had a good time,

This little boy lost was gone in due time.

He went home to his mother where he wanted to be,

He left a hole in the middle of me,

But I’m happy to have the time he spent here,

And In my heart he will always be,

Sometimes I wonder,

Does he remember me?

Little boy lost where are you now.

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A Relationship stolen

I wanted to be his father,

For two years I loved him, felt the warmth of his little body in my arms

The beautiful smile the shine in his eyes when he looked at me,

His first birthday was a joy in my heart, he smeared frosting on my nose and we both laughed,

Our first Christmas was heaven as I watched his tiny fingers try to open the gift wrap,

The glow of Happiness I saw in his face

I wanted to be his father and see him grow,

I wanted to be his father and share in his glow,

His first day of school I wanted to know

I wanted to be his father as he grew up

But I didn’t get to be the father he knew,

He was stolen by his mother, with hatred inside

She told him I didn’t love him and filled him with lies.

A relationship stolen I had no control, my heart has been broken, I want him to know,

I wanted to be your father.

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On the Gain and Value of College

I registered today at ScholarshipExperts, which I learned about while attending the STOMP conference at UCLA last month. After registering and filling out several thousand miles of personal details, I was presented with a rather thick list of scholarships to which I might apply, and so I began to peruse them. One scholarship in particular caught my eye, the “Campus Discovery Survey,” which offered a pretty hefty scholarship opportunity in exchange for taking a brief survey followed by an extemporaneous essay on the topic, “What have you gained by going to college and what value have you received?” all in the space of merely 200 words.

I registered today at ScholarshipExperts, which I learned about while attending the STOMP conference at UCLA last month. After registering and filling out several thousand miles of personal details, I was presented with a rather thick list of scholarships to which I might apply, and so I began to peruse them. One scholarship in particular caught my eye, the “Campus Discovery Survey,” which offered a pretty hefty scholarship opportunity in exchange for taking a brief survey followed by an extemporaneous essay on the topic, “What have you gained by going to college and what value have you received?” all in the space of merely 200 words. At best that’s a difficult task, of course; I could already write a volume or two on the benefit I’ve gained from college and I’ve only just finished my first year. So I set out to write as concisely as possible, and about halfway through was rather shocked to discover that lo and behold, my essay was spilling forth in the form of a poem. It’s not my best poem, to be sure, but it’s only half bad, and at the very least it does answer the question. What’s perhaps most amazing of all, though, is the length: it came out to exactly 200 words.

On the Gain and Value of College

One year into my college career, a swelling is growing inside. A sense that’s immense, of something much greater, of words and ideas all echoing close and intense. I’ve learned new confidence, fed by practiced competence, and a wakening awareness of something–many things–more.

For when I was a child, the kind who rarely smiled, such expansive futures were not to be–not for me. For I came from a place not so much full of grace, but of an empty, a doom and a dreary tomorrow or two.

Onto the campus I stepped with much fear, my heart thumping hard and afraid! And the sun lit up bright, showed me all would be right, just a little effort be made. I found new ways to open, new ways to see, new ideas to think on–and a new, better me. So class by class, I’ve gained a new sense of ID-of loved and unknown ones, all part and parcel of me.

Such values as these are rarely expressed, for it seems so unfair, to have their meanings compressed; but assured  may you rest that what I’ve gained from college is the quintessentially best.

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Contiguous Collection of Consistent Contradictions

The light shines from the radiant page
Awake!
The battle-cry of the textbook, crumpled pages
Marked and marked and marked for more lucid moments.

Tales told and echoed through time
Demand!
Consideration of the eyes and thoughts and sentiments unseen
Who wept and cheered and laughed and bore horror’s torment.

Prose that winds the page like a coiled snake
Dangerous!
Fires set in hearts a century apart, joined in feeling
Yet split by a clock do minds twirl and race and excite by others long since dead

And thunder dwells ‘neath breast and nipple
Uncaged!
Never tamed, but for this fire inside, passed not by seed but word and deed
Alight! This sweet flame, this fickle bitch, this angry, loving, rich and poor
Beautiful monster inside
Destroyer of the world
Creator of the new
Tyrant and Liberator
Embittered and
Softened
Sculpted

Self.

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From the Ashes springs New Fire!

It’s been a year since last Poetic Hell saw a new poem or update; a year in which much has happened. Perhaps most unfortunate of these things is the passing of my grandmother, Iris Ward, lifelong companion of my grandfather, John Ward, whose passing brought me back together with family and loved ones I hadn’t seen in too long. She lasted just four short months after my grandfather left, and evidently could wait no longer to follow him on his way. I miss her terribly–we all do–but still, she, like my grandfather, gave us a good run, and we were lucky to have had her for as long as we did.

It’s been a year since last Poetic Hell saw a new poem or update; a year in which much has happened. Perhaps most unfortunate of these things is the passing of my grandmother, Iris Ward, lifelong companion of my grandfather, John Ward, whose passing brought me back together with family and loved ones I hadn’t seen in too long.  She lasted just four short months after my grandfather left, and evidently could wait no longer to follow him on his way. I miss her terribly–we all do–but still, she, like my grandfather, gave us a good run, and we were lucky to have had her for as long as we did.

On a happier note, we’ve new additions in the form of new cousins Rory and Sophia, born to my cousins Shawna and Deage respectively, in their lovely families (and pretty close together, too; one in December, the other in January.)

As for me, I’ve returned to school to study literature, philosophy and film as much as possible in the hopes of transferring to a good film school once I’ve finished at the CC level. In two days, a full year will have come and gone, and I’ve got to marvel at what a ride it’s been so far. Lots of fun, mountains of learning, and an ever growing sense of belonging in an academic environment. It’s weird, but I love it.

Now, however, it’s time for some poetry, and to kick things off right (and meet a creative project requirement for a course) I’ll do something unique: Post a brand new poem.

Yeah, umm…be afraid.

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Wading

For the life of me I can’t remember a thing about this poem, the time it was written or what may have inspired it. But, perhaps, other things were weighing too heavily on me anyway.

Wading

Wading in the sea

Fading emotionally

Reaching inward slowly

A gaze inside I cannot see

Wading in the ocean

Fading my emotion

Reaching in with no commotion

A reflection of a haunting notion

Wading in my heart

Fading from a fire-start

Reaching outward to depart

A half without my counterpart

Wading in darkness

Fading from the starkness

Reaching to hear the harkness

Aching from apartness

Standing on a mountain

Looking ‘cross the cloudy sea

Seeing nothing in the distance

And just of Love, a memory.

9-6-1998

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Precipice

1998-1999 were pretty tough times. It was during this time frame that I lost my son, Nathaniel, who for all intents and purposes was essentially kidnapped by his mother with the assistance, no less, of my father. For a time–a rather long time, I have to admit–I couldn’t really focus much on anything at all. A deep depression sat in and every child I saw reminded me of him and his bedroom, still full of his toys, clothes, bed and other belongings, was often a place in which I would simply sit and despair.

1998-1999 were pretty tough times. It was during this time frame that I lost my son, Nathaniel, who for all intents and purposes was essentially kidnapped by his mother with the assistance, no less, of my father. For a time–a rather long time, I have to admit–I couldn’t really focus much on anything at all. A deep depression sat in and every child I saw reminded me of him. His bedroom, still full of his toys, clothes, bed and other belongings, was often a place in which I would simply sit and despair.

More than once I considered making it my own ending space, but there is something inside that would always rage, “No, that path is for the cowardly and the weak. I am better than that; I will hold on“. And so I did–1,000 miles away. That scenario bore in me a kind of fear specific to family, and at that stage it seemed to me that those who had worked hardest to hurt me the most were unequivocally my family, especially my father. It was in large part that fear that has for years lead me to keep the remainder of my family at arm’s length, though I must say that most of the rest of them certainly did not deserve that.

I’m not exactly sure where this piece fits into that history, but I think that this was written somewhere around the time my world began to crumble, and I felt myself at a tipping point where nothing seemed clear and no future seemed certain.

Precipice

 

Standing Alone

Upon the Edge of Eternity

Seeing Below

All the Dreams inside of me

 

Like ants so far away

All I love’s scurrying free

In the emptiness of space

An infinity you cannot see

 

I want to fall into this dream

To swim within this sea

To hold my loves inside my grasp

And live my life freely

 

I’m standing on a precipice

Above the world below

Desperately wanting to embrace you

But how to get there I don’t know

 

Which way will I fall?

I can’t see the light

The precipice is crumbling now

And I sure could use my sight.

 

12-13-1998

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A Question of Order

I’ve been considering whether to add poems by order of the date they were written, but it occurs to me I botched that idea by launching the site with a brand new piece. To carry that forward my subsequent posting was from 1998, long after I’d written so many god-awful pieces of teenage angsty crap. I’m going to continue with the 1998 models for now, though in no particular order except as they strike me. In case you’re wondering, yes, it’s simply that these are the poems I have most easily accessible to me right now, but as I dig out the older ones from the forbidden suitcase in which they are locked, I’ll be sure to post them here as well.

My plan for posting is actually rather simple: One old poem per day, and if the opportunity for a newer one strikes then I’ll go ahead and post that too. Luckily I don’t hate my fellow man enough to devote much effort to new poetry, so count yourself lucky. In the morning, we begin!

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Pass Judgment!

Well, we’re not afraid of judgment here, and in fact we encourage it, which is why we’ve introduced our brand new Ratings system…plugin…that we downloaded for free.

So go ahead and judge away: That guy’s too fat; that girl’s too ugly; Aunt Hilda’s nose hair reminds me of an overgrown fern; Sony sucks donkey nards; Jason’s poems are like crap smeared on a wall. Feel free to go to town and have fun with it! We know that life is full of judgments of all sorts, some of them unfair, others deserved, but all in all–part and parcel of being the kind of animal with a Reason-equipped Brain.

You may have heard that one of the features of the much maligned mythical Hell (don’t try to say that three times fast, you may hurt your tongue) entails the dreaded Passing of Judgment. This most fearsome of terms can bring shivers to the spine of a properly indoctrinated child, and downright chills to someone a little older who’s managed to bury him or herself knee deep in the fun, err, pain of a life of sin. Any good (insert Fear Organization of Choice [FOC hereafter] here) can tell you, being judged is a terrible and awful thing to be avoided at all costs. In fact, it’s so fearsome and terrible a thing that you’re not even meant to do it yourself, lest ye be judged. This leads to all sorts of excuses for not bothering to think, and can in fact lead to a sort of intellectual paralysis among those for whom the words truly do grip their innermost gonads.

Well, we’re not afraid of judgment here, and in fact we encourage it, which is why we’ve introduced our brand new Ratings system…plugin…that we downloaded for free.

So go ahead and judge away: That guy’s too fat; that girl’s too ugly; Aunt Hilda’s nose hair reminds me of an overgrown fern; Sony sucks donkey nards; Jason’s poems are like crap smeared on a wall. Feel free to go to town and have fun with it! We know that life is full of judgments of all sorts, some of them unfair, others deserved, but all in all–part and parcel of being the kind of animal with a Reason-equipped Brain.

And next time somebody tells you “Judge not, lest ye be judged“, smile kindly and say in your best faux-Russian accent in honor of the late, great Ayn Rand: “Judge, and be prepared to be judged“.

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Some Visual flavor

So, you may have noticed (I have) that the site so far is fairly generic. Yeah, it was put together in a hurry, so sue me. Anyway, there are some changes coming, not the least of which is a sexy banner envisioned by myself and artified (err, that might not actually be a word) by Professional Illustrator Kelley Frisby. I’m thinking of some category or tag icons to use as well, but those might be a ways off.

So, you may have noticed (I have) that the site so far is fairly generic. Yeah, it was put together in a hurry, so sue me. Anyway, there are some changes coming, not the least of which is a sexy banner envisioned by myself and artified (err, that might not actually be a word) by Professional Illustrator Kelley Frisby. I’m thinking of some category or tag icons to use as well, but those might be a ways off.

Anyway, it’s clear the site needs a little personal attention to really make it feel like a home (even if it is a home for really awful poetry), so I can’t help but ask, do you have any ideas? If we use your idea, I’ll make sure you get a Poetic Hell T Shirt…as soon as we figure out our logo 🙂

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