Old Poetry VIII – Begun To Be Undone
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.
Begun To Be Undone
Since I can't see in front of myself, I've got eyes in the back of my head, I can't tell you who'll I'll miss, Can't tell myself which ghoul to kiss, The faeries dance and the goblins sway, And sad Peer Gynt goes on his way, I travel backwards as well, Into make believe memories, I carry them with me into my hell, I construct with psychoanalytical ease, I'll tell you that it's you whom I will miss, More than anything in my life, Only to placate your yearnings, While mine have only begun to be undone.
I don’t know about this one. It’s like it ends before it starts. At least I made a literary reference.
Stay tuned for Old Poetry IX