Old Poetry IV – All The Lines In Between

Published September 13, 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.

All The Lines In Between

When all the times seem to lead to no where,
And all the pieces stop going,
Searching for a meaning, slowing,
There's sperm on my stomach when I look down,
And the smell of work gloves in the air,
Oh, if I could take a picture of this moment,
I might be able to capture a meaning that wasn't there.


In library halls and passageways of words,
And classrooms stuck forever boring,
I dream of stillness,
Of being frozen in a giant iceblock,
Naked and slowly,
Just below consciousness,
Dreaming a giant structure where,
Everything fits into the picture,
Including me.

I end up crawling into,
All the lines in between,
And falling asleep across couches in the trailer court,
Where time and place were premature,
But now it is too late.

This is my favorite poem so far. If you can’t tell, I’m going in alphabetical order. That just seemed the easiest order to compile them in. This poem is haunting in a somewhat perverse way. I like that in a poem.

Stay tuned for Old Poetry V

Image Based On A Photo by Ksenia Makagonova on Unsplash

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