Poet? Poet.

In continuing my previous post about owning, without apology, certain creative titles, I posted all of the poems that I’ve written that I could find.  I thought there would be ten.  So far I’ve found 29, and I’m shocked.  The earliest I can find was written in 1993.  I know I have a few others, but fear that they may be lost forever.  A haiku I wrote for my father when I was 19 and moving out of his house and into my first apartment, is the one I miss most and would be heartbroken if I can’t find.  I’m surprised by many of the poems – barely remember writing them, not sure who I’m writing about for several that are clearly about specific men.  I sounded so specific and certain at the time, but with the benefit of an additional dozen years or so, and better familiarity with my patterns they seem laughably interchangeable. There are a couple that I blush from how badly the inexperience – writing, life – shows through.  I see pain that I am grateful I hardly remember, bitterness I just don’t feel anymore, but also in some of those older poems a fiercer, stronger sense of self that had been chiseled away and I feel like I’m finally reclaiming.  I also am comforted by seeing old friends and memories in the lines and between them.

You can find them all here –> All Poems

photo by Laylah Muran
photo by Laylah Muran
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