Old Poetry XX – Doesn’t Take Much
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.
Doesn’t Take Much
You like to think you're above it all When it doesn't take much to make you fall You can reason, feel, communicate to live No matter how much you're willing to give Still in a world that feeds on life You're always at the sharp point of a knife This is all you get to have yet You invent time and are willing to bet That there is such a thing as life after death A mockery it seems of life itself A meaningless treasure with no end to its wealth All begins and everything ends You being born proves infinity's pretend You're so afraid of not being alive you're not living You don't know your strength 'til you hit yourself too hard Become a one man show throwing rallies against mobs Flowers bloom and begin to wilt at your mention And language fakes adultery just for the attention All the thoughts in your head to your chest breath aches And your heart pounds until the headboard breaks Tears falling into fears drowning in the years staring into mirrors Crashing while you steer where are you not near headlights in your ears Everything's severe all your peers are queer And you just might find that you just might love Those one symphonic lines that fit like gloves One day taken away ending your way of feeling okay And you realize too late on this oft-forgotten date that You like to think you're above it all When it doesn't take much to make you fall.
What can I say: a poem about hubris.
Stay tuned for Old Poetry XXI