Personal Touch
Have you ever read bad poetry? You know, that kind of poetry that we all wrote at one point in junior high or high school where we poured out our hearts to the very dregs of our tormented existence, the fall-out from the hurricane force winds of puberty. Poetry like:
The throbbing of my aching heart
Drowned out the sound of my sobs
As I sank to my knees
In the torrential rain
Mourning the loss of you
Mourning the loss of you.
Besides being terrible and horrible and awful, this poetry makes another major mistake: it assumes that people care. I made this mistake myself, plenty of times, and have learned something from the experience. Maybe I have learned too much. Maybe I'm a bit jaded, becoming overly hesitant when it comes to making public, personal posts on my blog. Why would people care about what kind of coffee I drank this morning, the color of my hotel room, the interesting bum that accosted me on the street? Yet I am continually being surprised by the fact that people do care, and the details are important.
Perhaps this points out a larger flaw in my mentality, a persisting question that could potentially deposit me in a place of solitude and independence: Why would people care?
posted by Timothy @ 10:59 AM
13 Comments:
I could always point to the Trinity and give a long exposition about the community and connection that God has in Himself and that the reason He created people is because He wanted other creatures to experience the joy and life that He has. But I won't. Instead, I'll just say that the reason I want to know what kind of toothpaste you used is because I want to know. Also, my next door neighbor is practicing his electric guitar.
I would like to read some of your recent poetry. I thought some of the poetry you wrote in High School was very good. People do care.
the sound of your breath fills my head and the tearing of cloth
pushes me over the edge
rage the night sky and spin the deck of cards into despair
i can't find my way home
and where are the keys to my car?
take the train to the next station
and forget the cleanliness of the star studded hotel.
...just another high-school ranting.
"ode to a forrest squirl" this was written by tim back in the day.
and i thought it was a damn good poem... so good in fact that i have wrote it in emails, instant messages and quoted it to many people over the years.
'ode to a forrest squril"
by timothy davis
there was an ugly man
who lived all by himself
and every night he put
his teeth upon the shelf
he had an ugly dog
a dog he deemed his own
they lived out in the woods
this man and dog alone
there was a chirpy squril
who stoped by day to day
but when he saw the two
he usually ran away
now one day when this dog
was outside for a trot
he bit the squril in two
and left the halfs to rot
the man he never knew
but every night at eight;
his teeth upon the shelf
where they would sit and wait
High school poetry was always on the interesting side and real depressing it made me wonder if that is the way they really felt about life. I only wrote one once because I had to for school. It impacted me so much that I don't even remember what it was about! But anyway as far as wanting to know something personal we are just a nosy people and want to make sure you are not getting into to much trouble!
Nate, that's totally rad that you still have that poem.
The other HS ranting I enjoyed.
I am admonished.
Who is anonymous?
i am confused. the other hs ranting? are you talking about my other post? i could be way off base here... help me out buuddy...
No no... "anonymous" posted a poem and said it was another high school ranting.
You don't rant.
nobody cares.
LOL!
i care. and i own up to the anonymous HS rant...completely spontaneous, however. i AM a random poem generator.
My personal fav is a shorty:
don't know why I miss you
the anger and distress
without you I am nothing
with you even less
Oh, and Empty House is pretty good. I don't have it here... maybe Nathan or Timothy handy.
Ah, found it. Hooray for usenet.
empty house
gaps between walls
locks the cold
when winter falls
and we are together
in frozen effigy
slanted teeth meet
shingled wings and beak
too much space and light surrounds
idle air hums
background dust speaks
i'm too still for my shelters sake
and over again outlets groan
the instep walk of paths far worn
other voices stucked
like darts in the paint
look! she loved him
cry the corners
phantoms affixed in the walls
layered, thinly veiled
behind closets tucked
wooden floors hopscotch play
polygons diagram happier days
vents spew calm breathing always
layered in mint and green hallways
cracks spit memory's haze
steeped in time
a one house craze
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