Old Poetry XII – Blow You Away

Published November 1, 2021
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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.

Blow You Away

Your memories like breath on the yellow stained-glass window,
In the cold dark night outside, inside the fire burns warm,
Mystery is in the air, dreams are on the verge of taking hold,
I draw up my hand to grasp the tapestral twine of the world,
Begin to slowly pull it down to weave my own design,
Before now my gun always shot blanks, but now, this time,
Bullets will pierce the flesh, my will be done,
Everything falls down in the end and rots away,
Even our heros, their vision living on in all our hearts,
Our villains, the quieting among them, will eventually give way,
All who come to me will never go hungry,
When I concentrate the stained glass window glows,
Your spirit is so ever close,
I exhale, just to blow you away.

I have no idea about this one.

Stay tuned for Old Poetry XIII

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