Old Poetry X – Bladularadon

Published October 25, 2021
Comments: 0

Back in the day, when I was about twenty-two and a bit later, ’til about twenty-six, I wrote poetry. I haven’t written a real poem in a very long time. I used to be so into poem writing that I would go to “open-mics” and read my poems with my friend and brief-boyfriend Calvin. Calvin was significantly older than me, and unfortunately, the relationship didn’t quite work out on my end.

Calvin and I would go to the Mercury Café in Denver and read poetry, and we’d also go to a place called the Kasbah. What’s interesting about that is that Calvin and I were two white gay guys, and the Kasbah (or Casbah) was a mainly African-American lounge that had a poetry night. So we’d show up and we’d be the only two gay white guys amidst a see of strong black poets. It was a little bit daunting.

Of course, I decided to try my hand at being a “spoken word” artist and composed a SUPER long poem. I tried to pull it off and I was clapped offstage (or played offstage) at both the Mercury and the Kasbah… very embarrassing. After that, and the fact there was a shooting at the Kasbah one night I didn’t go, and my interest in open-mic’ing kinda died out.

I used to host all my poetry, both good and bad, on my website, but it’s been a long time since I’ve done that. I’ve decided to, after approximately fourteen years, reshare the poetry that I wrote as a teenager and young adult.

Some of it is cringe, and some of it’s not quite so bad. You be the judge.


I can see his figure,
Decked out in black,
The metallic bull skull head,
His red, shining eyes,
The blades on his sleeves,
He stands there puffing steam,
Out the holes in his nose,
He clenches his gloved hand,
As I approach, cold, naked,
He raises his arm,
And the cat o' nine tails,
Swishes in the wind,
He draws it tight,
I am standing right in front of him now,
He could kill me at any second,
I start to unzip his jacket,
I can hear the drone of the machine,
Throughout the starless sky,
The red liquid drips out from inside,
I stick my hand inside,
And bear witness to the pain,
That is Bladularadon.

Interesting imagery, kinda bizarre. This is a poem that just is. There was a period in my life where I was suffering from full-on Bipolar II and Borderline Personality Disorder symptoms and was undiagnosed. Some of my poetry reflects this.

Stay tuned for Old Poetry XI

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