I've had a passing interest in poetry for a while, but my previous attempts to write poems have been, in my own estimation, laughable. That said, when I began the project that was to become The Wave Function Junction, I was determined that poetry would be a part of it. And so I began a concerted effort at creating something of which I could be less than thoroughly ashamed. If these aren't profound, at least they're not too bad, I think.
Well, these ones are pretty bad. They're some of my first serious attempts, and so of course I fell all over myself writing them. The writing was not pretty. I'm sure I got better over time, but since these ones are barely good enough to qualify, I'm still going to share them. Meanwhile, you can keep looking forward to when I post the "good ones."
The first one, "Debt," is not exactly a poem, but it's odd prose, so I'm including it here.
Of all of these, I think "Apologies to John" is my favorite. This particular John is John Entwistle, and the apology is for envy; if I had a time machine, the first thing I would do with it would be to go back in time and steal his idea for the song called "905." There is however a second cause for apology; when I first wrote the poem, I had assumed it was written by Pete Townshend, and titled it "Apologies to Pete." Fortunately, I caught myself before I released such an abomination to the world, but I humbly beg the Ox's forgiveness.
Anyway, let's get this over with.
In days of peace my eyes are closed, but I see through my transparant lids. And I walk half-asleep, I see my future in the shade of a dream, and I am afraid. But sometimes I walk beside someone, and then my heart is at peace.
When the days are not so peaceful, I fret. I know it doesn't help, but I can't help it. I close my eyes and I can't see a thing, so I open them and mourn the past. Sometimes I wish tomorrow would start today, and my heart would be at peace.
Every day I check my bank account to see if I am overdrawn, like I once was, and soon will be again. The really sad thing is that life won't tell me how much I owe. Of course, I have my own estimation, but I'm not very good at math. So much for that.
Piano Fantasy Nine
A piece on the piano plays, soft and unassuming,
It means so much to me
A little louder now,
Now soft once more,
Sorrow speaks to me
It means so much to me,
And to a precious few who've heard it
It speaks without words;
Apologies to John
As I strive for significance,
I realize in time
My words are not significant,
But my words are mine
The mystery that is me,
A truth I almost see
I am most surely not,
But it would explain a lot
When I take a pen in hand,
I gather all my thoughts,
But they scatter in the sand
Like easy rhymes I bought
Bought them at a corner store,
Set them on my page,
Took the credit, took the glory,
But everything I do has been done before.
I drove my car from the high street
And the rain fell down like snow,
It was well past four
The air was cold with moisture
And the dampened streetlights glowed,
It began to pour
Safe in bed I thought of others,
And then I went to sleep.