Take a deep breath and let go...

So I trudged down to my basement (literally, and I guess figuratively as well) and started unpacking decades of writing. I am terrible about titling and dating my poems, so I will have to guestimate the time of most of my contributions. I have a tendency to write in a certain style for a while, which makes it easier to determine approximately when things were produced. I will continue to sift through boxes, and update as time allows. However, I am eager to read other's poetry, I believe it makes you a better, more well rounded poet. So, here goes nothing.

SUMMER CAMP

(late '80's)

Summer camp

Choking smoke from fires

that singed our legs

we proclaimed our love for Jesus and

captured the flag.

running till our lungs felt

as if they would burst before

we could deliver the prize to the Lord.

we were so crafty, so cunning and swift.

so sure of foot, darting and weaving and rolling

out of the grasp of our sworn enemies

for that afternoon.

We met in the messhall

eating mass produced food

and I don't remember what

but nobody liked it.

And after lunch we creeps

sprayed shaving cream on a popular girl

from above her as she showered.

And she didn't even know

until she went to rinse and

we ran away to the treehouse and laughed

guilty laughter at our decidedly

unchristian behaviour.

Later we apologised

at the prayer meeting

and it was a Big Deal.

She accepted it with a grace

that benefitted her position and

we were lone dogs again, curs

who needed saving and we wanted it.

to be in the moment

with all eyes upon us

and be lifted up on the prayers

of tens and hundreds in attendence.

bowing our heads dutifully, we were saved

and went off to square dance

in the rec hall.

i remember few black kids

and no hispanic or asian.

we were white middle upper class

and knew no other.

we made wallets and crosses for our parents

to carry, and tread water for 3 minutes

with a buddy who didn't want to be there

and told sacrilegious ghost stories

in the roach infested cabins

only miles from where Randy Rhodes

had just died that summer.

and a girl i knew from home,

but pretended not to know

so i would look cool,

got her hair caught in a curling iron

and i was caught in the lie

in order to help her.

and the little tiny girl

who practiced gymnastics

and could lay on her back

and do splits

with one leg across her chest

got the boy i liked.

and i got no boy,

no boy at all.

but i got a tshirt from leesburg, florida

and i got saved

and i got the flag

and i got the gratitude of a wet haired girl

all that summer

at summer camp.

WENDY

(late '80's)

I am not your Wendy

but some lost boy.

I cannot abide a ribbony existence

of worry and cautiousness.

I need a wooden sword

tight in my sweaty fist-

to feel the anticipation

of battles with Indians

whose clenched white teeth

glint off steel knives

as they creep into our wood.

I want to throw the plots and plans

down

and rush heedlessly to the sea

where foolish pirates

sail too close to shore.

To live by my cunning

and wake awed at each sunrise,

surprised to see the night fall.

To be headstrong and certain

in the strength of myself.

To never doubt.

To never question.

To never grow old.

UNTITLED

(80's-current. I like to write using one or two words to a line. That has just always appealed to me. This was just a little poem I jotted down after attending a party.)

Blue

green.

Smile

preen.

Pose

pretty.

Speak

witty.

Silly

willful

Dream

deep.

Wash off

your makeup

and

go to sleep.