Old Poetry XIII – Bullets Into Seeds
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.
Bullets Into Seeds
I am a warrior, But not of blade nor bullet, I have no weapons of my own, Only the cages others hand me, My magic and skill lie in my ability, To turn bullets into seeds, With love never ending, I am a warrior who lets compassion take the lead.
This sounds a bit egomaniacal I suppose. It also makes me think of new-agey things. That’s about it on this one. I remember writing it sitting on the toilet.
Stay tuned for Old Poetry XIV