Old Poetry XVII – Constellations

Published December 6, 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.


I'm just a piece of light,
Travelling across the lumenscape,
Smooth I travel, no trees in my way,
Smooth I traverse the bridges built,
And broken,
I shine brilliantly amongst the cold flakes,
For once my black cape is off,
Blowing further away into brightness,
All I can see is the sun,
And all it can see is me,
How long shall the burning go?
As far across the plains of snow
As I see the path from my darkened window.

I wrote this in high school. I was inspired by the cold wintry landscape over the field that I could see at night from my bedroom window.

Stay tuned for Old Poetry XVIII

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