Rant to a Friend

I have waited too long for this.

And maybe there were times when I was too scared.

No. I have been scared for the whole time. In many things that I’ve wanted to do.

I never felt the fear because I’d always cover it up with some excuse that made a lot of sense.

But it makes no sense to have lived in fear like this.

My fate is finally in my hands.

If I should fail in my goals again, I will fail without fear.

That’s what I felt junior year then, that edge, that feeling that I never felt before.

There were matches when I was in that zone of fearlessness. I was consumed with that desire to beat my opponent.

I wish to taste that again.

Even as I fatigue from restless sleep.

Even as some friends come and go.

I want that power again.

I’m still scared. But I fear the fate of my friend more than the fate of myself.

When I have that power in my hands once again, I can hold my fate.

And be able to confront such suffering in this world.

Want to know how my dad became friends with Sallie?

Her late husband liked my dad’s music a lot.

My dad played his music for her husband while he was on his deathbed.

To use something of yours that you’re passionate about to relieve the suffering of others; I’d like to find that.

I tried doing that once fairly recently, writing a letter to a suicidal mother. I didn’t expect to save her, but I hoped to relieve her a bit.

No such relief came.

I can see my friend’s hurt in her face nowadays.

She once told me, “You’re such a happy spirit. I wish I could be more like you.”

But I can’t be happy as one of my closest friends is like this.

However, I can find this power again.

And perhaps when I finally drive my fate, I’ll finally be able to help her.

And kinda be like my dad someday.

Few people get to see what I really feel.

Sometimes I wonder if I just have some kind of odd charade going on all the time during school.

But I guess everybody plays that little game all the time too.


Caring For Conviction

My conviction lays in pieces on the floor. 

Trying to piece it back together, 

I search for my will. 

I find my pencil.

Found it.


My heart unburdened, unchained, 

Flows into my instrument. 

The effort taxes me 

As emotions reverberate. 

My convictions start gluing back together again. 

I am pleased.


The energy bursts out, 

I sense the sun, the star, 

In all of its glory. 

My will says it’s done. 

I put the pencil down. 


I sink back into my chair, comprehending

My art. 

The words reflect a transience 

Comparable to those explosions in our cars, 

And like those explosions, 

The transience runs me forward. 


My conviction, I feel it, caress it, embrace it. 

It’s been too long. 

Let’s spend the rest of our lives together. 

I’ll help you and you’ll help me. 

Our journey won’t know what hit it.


Does Poetry Get No Love?

I ask this because I was checking out my spam comments. Much to my amusement, most of the spam went into a couple of my poetry posts. I jokingly thought that all of my poetry was getting all the icky commentary. Oh well, at least some of the spam had some nice attempts to inflate my ego. Too bad the compliments were fake and came from random emails that were obviously generated by a bot. Poetry though… I think it’s easy for anybody to maintain a love/hate relationship with it.

For me personally, I like poetry that uses different word meanings and colorful language (not the dirty colorful language, mind you). However, I prefer that the poetry not have to be cryptic. Honestly, it’s only fun to decode a poem’s possible meaning when you have a bunch of English nerds by your side to annotate the crap out of a copy of poetry. I did this in class once and I thought it was enjoyable. Though I did realize that it would’ve been hell to do it by myself.

Reading shouldn’t be hell, whether you do it by yourself or with some friends. Prose should be easy on the eyes, and should excite the inner voice in your head that reads out the words to you. I don’t mind having a few new words to learn in a poem, but I’d like to have the poet’s intent to be more clear. For whatever reason, humans seem to like the poetry that might not have any kind of meaning at all, pretentious poetry that just enjoys slapping a bunch of words together. I have a friend who likes to make this into a kind of sport, so he just puts a bunch of words together that sound nice together.

Poetry of course, is not all about a bunch of words that sound nice together. It’s about expressing an author’s emotion while at the same time bending a few rules that would normally restrain regular prose. I for one, would like to have a poet’s intent fairly clear to me from the get-go; it makes it easier to relate to the poet in terms of their emotion and message. It will make poetry both more accessible and interesting, while simultaneously eliminating the “misunderstood poet” stereotype.

Like all of my posts, this one is up for discussion. What do you think about poetry?