I was looking through some of the poems I have written and I found this very angsty one that I wrote when I was 18, I have always wanted to 'air it out' for our own good ('our' being both me and the poem!) Thanks for making this possible
My own Footsteps
Suddenly it occurred to me whilst sitting here gazing, contemplating Desperately wanting to be distracted by what I saw out there, Putting off the normal routine that makes up the mechanics of life. I know of that time phenomenon, that it slips away from love, Like the fingers of a girl through her fathers; I clung to his feet. It is inevitable that to love is perhaps to dilute who you are You become less of your own person as you lay yourself bare Then comes the kick in the teeth, or as I now remember The grass in the mouth. ‘SLAG’ – at nine. Tell me my friend how Is it that you can wear white virgin socks? ‘Ignore them’ Isn’t that what he said to my friend, that pitied man. He made me so ****ing angry, I felt guilty. He, who taught me to read, helped me. Helped himself To get into my mother’s knickers. But she Was unhappy and always will be. Like her I dig my nails into every man’s back, Trace my name on their thigh to reclaim what Will be taken away from me if I love them. All those who I dare to love…
Leave me.
But, I do have people to thank For this novel optimism. I understand myself now, Helped by the girl with the bow, Burnt red onto her back. It is not so odd, Love will find me, As I walk through This beautiful life My own footsteps will crush Those previously trodden by others, dirty and black on my heart. As eager as lust, I will magically find my purpose. I will find love; I will master my own life, By making my own footsteps.
Nice work, Anon, but it sounds to me more like lyric prose (I don't know if that's the way you call it in English) than poetry. Equally dazzling, though.
__________________
'I've discovered the secret of life. A lot of hard work, a lot of sense of humor, a lot of joy and a whole lot of tra la la.' Kay Thompson
Poetry (or whatever you call it) belongs to the person who needs it (and makes use of it) not only to the person who writes it. Whatever we write can take wings in the hands of the people who can listen to it.
Following Alby's remark about the "lyric prose" jargon, I believe that there are no actual divides in literary genres. Only academics and university people draw the lines just to be able to find a book on the shelves. Isn't it?
GO ON mate, give us more of that beautiful stuff. Feel free to post the under your name. You said : "You become less of your own person as you lay yourself bare" I say : Lay yourself bare is to give out to the world your inner thoughts; go public and you will take off in the hands of the people who will dare to admire you.
thanks very much for all of your comments, i think i might start to post more stuff on now that i am half - over the nerves! thanks agin for taking the time to read it xxxx
you should keep it
but credit where credit is due, it was an enjoyable read.
