Friday

Why am I doing this?



Why am I doing this? 1982 is long gone, and frankly, this poetry sucks. I know, I know. Bear with me. It gets better. It's a journey to be followed - an arc of a teenage life. And this is the internet. I am allowed this indulgence. (Although I'm also allowed to be completely ignored - but that works for me, too, in a different sort of way.)

A long time ago, I compiled a book of poems, but I never had the courage to send it out into the world. I will post most of it here. But in the process of searching through my archives (some of it, I'm sure, for the first time since high school), I'm finding some things more interesting than others. The context of my life in the '80's can be tremendously entertaining. And I'm finding some of the little ways that I took my self so seriously, frankly, hilarious.

The point is, no one had a blog back then. Maybe a zine - which you spent 2 weeks slaving over at the xerox machine in the library, making collage art out of obscure tidbits from whatever book you just pulled off the shelf, and peppering it with references to as many other obscure artists as you could find. You made 20 copies, and they were gone in a day. Hopefully read and passed on, but who knows? We were so eager to be heard! Generation X built this internet from that sheer desire, but we didn't get to come of age in it. So that's what I'm recreating for you.

This is for everyone who threw it all out, or had it lost in the fire. For everyone who had to make a clean break, or couldn't live with the embarrassment of the past. Am I embarrassed? Sure, I'm embarrassed. Even more, I'm afraid that none of it means a damn thing. So I do it for myself, as well. For 17-year old Sharon, from central Illinois, who hoped the poetry would one day set her free.




Letter to Jack Nicholson


Dear Mr. Nicholson,

Hi. My name is Sharon Porter. I'm 15 (Don't you just love the beginnings of fan letters?) I've never been a real "fan" before, so I hope I'm doing this right. I keep getting these visions of boxes of mail at your doorstep every day, that are sorted through, scanned, and tossed out by a small panel of employees. But since this letter has actually reached you, I guess I'm wrong.

I know what you're thinking, now. You're thinking: "Isn't it about time she talked about the difference I've made in her life?" Funny, because I was just about to tell you that you're my favorite actor. It's remarkable that you've been cast in so many diverse roles. But the ultimate role for me was Eugene O'Neil in "Reds". I can't explain why, but there's something there that motivates me to want to see the movie every time it comes to town (only 8 times, so far, but that's pretty good for a 3 1/3 hour film). But it's not just "Reds" that I'm hooked on. I'd see "The Border", "Five Easy Pieces", "The Shining", "The Postman Always Rings Twice", "King of Marvin Gardens", or anything else you've been in a thousand times, and that wouldn't be enough. You are an easy person to overdose on.

Perhaps someday, we will meet each other. I plan to become a writer and a college teacher of philosophy. What I want most in life, tho, is to be able to express myself. I'd try acting, but I'm not sure that'd be my best outlet. I'd try politics, but I'm not into compromise and half-truths. What I really want is for people to come up to me and ask me what I feel about such and such; be it life, God, third world hunger, the Jack Nicholson movie I saw last night, whatever. I want people to want to know my opinion. Because I think I have something worthwhile to contribute. So who knows, Mr. Nicholson (may I call you Jack?)? Perhaps you ought to keep my signature. You never know what might happen.

Oh, but back to being a fan, again:
If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I would absolutely die over a picture of you. You may sign it if you wish, but don't feel any big obligation.

Well, I hope to see a letter from you soon. If not, I will assume that you feel I'm not worth responding to. Your loss would be as great as mine. Except that you wouldn't feel it. I wish you the best in life, and hope you will receive it well.

Peace, Love, and Happiness,
Sharon Porter

P.S. I'm sorry if I haven't quite been myself in this letter (even tho you wouldn't know who I really am), but it's very hard trying to impress someone who I'm so totally overwhelmed by. I hope I did okay.

(approx. 1982)

Meet Me in Ten and a Half Years


Dear M.,

The only times I've seen you, lately, it seems to me that there is at least one leech close at hand.  It could be W., R. or C.  I have no idea how you can stand it.  Then again, you might not consider them as lecherous as I do.  I don't know.  For all I know, I could fall in that category, too.  Anyway, this isn't the point that I'm trying to make.  I'm just saying that because of them, I don't get much of a chance to talk to you when I see you.

And furthermore, why did you have to go off to college?  Especially when I had just gotten used to seeing you in the halls every day?

Well, I've been thinking about all of these things, and how it would be really easy for us to just kind of drift away from each other's lives, so I decided to take action.  I am going to propose that in 10 1/2 years, you and I meet at Allerton Park (near Monticello, IL) on March 3, if weather permits.  There's a little area where the Fu Dogs used to be (there's a sign for the Fu Dogs at the parking lot entrance).  Next to the Fu Dog area is a little Gazebo-type building.  If it's really cold, I may be in there.  If it's just too cold on March 3rd, try again on March 20.  If not the 20th, try April 1st.  If I still don't see you by then, I will come every Saturday after that 'till the last Saturday before the 24th of June (unless that's a Saturday).  Am I confusing you?  Maybe definite plans aren't necessary.  

- sigh - 

Well, anyway I'm just trying to point out that we should keep in touch, so we won't have to plan things like this.  I have a better proposition: if you ever hear that there's going to be a meteor shower, please invite me to go see it with you.  I've never seen a shooting star, and it would be a special pleasure for you to share it with me.

(approx. 1982)

The Most Untouched Woman in the World


Some women are touched women
they have experienced the pleasures of the flesh
Other women are untouched
they have only experienced the pleasures of their fantasies
But I'm not here to talk about other women - 
only me.
I am the most untouched woman in the world.

When I was younger, I came to a fork in the road.
The first path was ideal - or would have been, 
had the weeds not overgrown
there were wildflowers and maple trees
But there were also mushrooms, poison ivy patches,
and thorny bushes
there was a small creek at the beginning of the trail
that I would have to jump over 
or wade through
and beyond all of the initial beauty of the path
there was a darkness and a sense of danger
which I was not ready to face
So I turned away to the other path

The second path was grassy and freshly cut
it seemed nearly void of all mosquitos and flies,
and I thought it a quaint little path for a stroll
So I chose the second path, in secret hopes 
that it would eventually lead back to the first

Now and then, I have occasional encounters 
with the first path, and yet
it is still so far away
It seems to me that the longer I travel the second path, 
the longer it gets.

I'm walking alongside the creek, now,
very thirsty for a drink
but I can't quite reach the water
it's become too wide to jump to the other side

I see my friends across the stream,
walking along the other path
We see each other, wave, and exchange words
but they are touched women 
I am not.

How funny a thing it is to be walking on one path 
with a friend, and then
turn around to see that you've been talking to a mirror image of the girl across the river
All of a sudden, she is the same person
but in a different reality

And the funniest thing is that none of that really
bothers me
What actually gets to me is that I feel
like I'm running out of chances
Like every man sees that I'm untouched,
and therefore wishes not to harm my purity

Well, listen, world, 
I'm growing a little tired of my purity
And I'd just assume cross the river, now
Will this era of my life will always remain
untouched?

(approx. 1982)

More Tidbits from '82


Lost in a meadow
Drowning in a brook
I can't find back the peace
you took

They said the pain would go away
But hard to accept as it may (be)
I know it's here to stay

* * *

There's a feeling deep inside of me
A growing pain - a memory
I can't remember, can't forget
The thousand strangers I have met

They're all alone, but all the same
Hiding all their inner shame
They're all looking for the keys
To open the door to love and peace

They realize not among their sins
That the answer lies within... within
the answer lies within

* * *

In far off lands, the hunger, pain
The long, hard days with little rain
You think you know what they go through
My God!  You don't know much, do you?!
You think your life is on the brink
But they don't have the strength to think!

* * *

Sister, where do you think you're goin'?
The dam has broken, the river's flowin'
You do know where to go, don't you?
I wouldn't go unless I knew

Leave us now, and all your tears
Will equal all the forest's years
Sleep tonight and your silent scream
Will echo in a horrible dream

Take my words and hold them dear
I told you to stay here.
Here, away from fear

(approx. 1982)

Tidbits from '82


Witches wish:
Give me some papers 
And magical potions
Before I forget 
This important notion...

* * *

By the time the rooster crows again
You'll see him with his favorite hen
And then the hen, with a quiet sigh
Will throw rotten eggs into his eye

* * *

Dream of a house
has any soap you want to use
take home everything you see --
No!  Too unreal

Dream of a boy
a girl
instant love --
No!  Too unreal

Dream of fairies
and freedom to fly
and gliding in the wind and life
Wake up to birds singing --
What?????  How did I get outside????!

(approx. 1982)

Sharon's Hat


My hat is a white, terry-cloth hat which I got many years ago.
I don't claim to believe that is is in style or will ever again be in style,
but I was moved to wear it when I got up this morning. Any abuse I
receive because of my hat is of little or no concern to me. If I worried
about my public image, then I would have to restrict myself from
actions that are characteristically mine. That includes dressing
strangely. Perhaps I want to stand out in many ways, and wearing
a white hat would be advantageous. Styles come and go so quickly
that I feel no need to bother with keeping up. Instead, I do what I
wish to do and wear what I wish to wear, and I am a better person
because of my individuality.