Looking Back, and Moving On

Hello.

For the sake of not embarrassing myself in front of fellow peers, I will refrain from writing a poem to my notebook.  But I've got to have an intro, because every new notebook begins a new era, and this one's gonna be good.

First, let's reflect on the past year or so, since the poems began:

Autumn, 1983:  Pain.  Yep.  And emotions as varied as the Fall leaves.  And coldness like the November wind, making me a stranger.

Winter, 1983-1984:  A reversal of roles, where the cold is on the outside, and warmth grows within.  Finding friends, and new meanings in friendships.

Spring, 1984:  Production.  Growth, like the budding spring leaves.  Mental downpours onto paper.  Fresh blood.  New awakenings of the mind.  And warmth.

Summer, 1984:  Warmth becomes heat.  Love locks the poet into a one-track mind.  Simplicity - nice, but not me.  Ending like a Shakespearian tragedy.  The Love Empire comes crashing down - and a part of me with it.  In the end, it is not missed.

Autumn, 1984:  A definite attempt to lay off the heavy concepts.  Friends are strangers - strangers, friends.  "So long, poetry!"  I cry, as I ride a more sociable wind.  So long, reality, I think, as I watch myself weaken, and lose form.

Winter, 1984-1985:  So long, Autumn faces.  I'm going to put the Vision to coherent work.  I'm going to do things I've never tried before.  And I sure as hell am going to write.  It's the most natural feeling I could ever have.  Writing is thinking.

But no resolutions.  Just this:  A notebook to be kept un-violated by any essays, notes or assignments.  A notebook to contain everything I really am, and everything I want to be.  A cliche?  Yes!  And more.  The lover that doesn't die after the attempted suicide.  The guy in the fog under a streetlamp with a trenchcoat and a hat.  The little surprise as you hit the bottom of the confetti in the box.

Dear Reader:

I'm not making any promises.  There's no "Satisfaction Guaranteed" sign anywhere.  But if it is good, publish me, please!!  Or at least put in a good word.  We all need a little encouragement, now and then.  And besides, I've got the boogeyman on my side...

- Sharon

- Dec. 26, 1984, A.D.

Nothing Day

The time:

the day after happiness --

a day when everything is so painful

that we talk about the weather

that is, if it's nice out

the contrast to yesterday

is not the worst day of all

but a nothing day

like always

I watch the people:

the tall one -

there -

he doesn't walk

he floats down the hallway

he doesn't know how she 

watches him

another girl joins another guy

they talk

she nears closer -

as if to touch -

but draws back

somehow, she sees the futility

of it all

and another hurts

as he watches her eyes

as she watches, and feels for

something she cannot have

don't think she doesn't know

he's watching

but she goes for the lesser of the

two futile pursuits

people chase,

people follow,

people watch while others gain

he is always better off than you

he gets your goal

but you get his

there are no answers

the time:

another desperate day

two would-be lovers try to find a way

to bridge the gap

two has-been lovers try to find a way 

to bridge a different gap

two friends walk in silence

and here, the place:

a musty garden

with rust-covered trees

and moldy daffodils -

no place for the innocent

surrounded by the Institution,

the garden sweats in anticipation

of a light

but today, the rabbits are eaten

by the stale air

and become cannibals

and the inevitable last rabbit trips,

and chokes on a stray piece of barbed wire

oh yes,

it does die

and if you walk through there, sometime

you will find strange remnants

you will see long hairs -

or antennae -

12 inches or more

or a black, broken, half-digested wing

but no source,

only the terrifying guess of what 

crime had occurred there

at the center of the garden,

the one object that retains any beauty

is an emerald-green beetle shell,

proving that something good did

live there once

and something good can live there again

but no, children

don't dream of it happening too soon

there is too much death there, now

and the place?

where is the garden?

up here

back, behind my eyes

below my hair

above my neck

within the slosh -

within the place of greatest

scientific awe

it's here

oh yes, it's here

it's all within

alas, my nightmare

and the time:

another nothing day

when the pain is so terrible

that we talk about the weather

that is,

only if it's nice out.

- Dec. 19, 1984, A.D.

Sketches '84

Sanity on the Line (Poem in BASIC)

Frustration

Unrest

Pulling me under

Like a volcano, the eruption comes from the inside

Give me the strength to fight this battle!

I must endure it this time

* * *

Confusion

It's here, inside me

So Much To Hate

And So Much To

Love

But I've got to keep my sanity first

I want 

To love

You

But

I've got

To find

Myself.

* * *

Will you help me?

(Dec. '84)

BASIC Programming for Killing Monsters

In My Defense

I wish someone would listen to me.  Not only do I accept my Christian friends, but I have to.  Who would I have without them?  But you don't have to accept me.  You know you're right, and you'll put me on the defensive every time.  I don't want to argue because it's such a personal decision.  And yet you tell me I'm wrong, after all the years I've put into my beliefs.

There is no happy little island I can go to to be with my peers.  There is only the pain of having one person after another tell me I'm misguided.  You are so oppressive.

I hate you for doing this to me.  You make me feel like shit for one of the best decisions of my life.  What right do you have to tell me I'm wrong?  Do you think you're the first one to fill me in on my "mistake"?  I sometimes wonder how many people look at me in the halls and classify me "Atheist".  I wonder how many good relationships have been shot down because I'm so "unwilling" to see the light.

I feel as firmly about my beliefs as you do about yours.  But would I ever even begin to tell you you're wrong?  Of course not.  Take a chance to step inside a foreign country with foreign beliefs sometime, and feel how much of a stranger you are.  Then, try to tell them they're wrong.  The whole world is not Christian yet.

You all walk around, saying, "I love God more than the next guy."  Well, I've seen the next guy.  And the guy after that.  And when faced with someone like me, you all seem to reaffirm your beliefs strongly.

You have implied again and again that I am religiously intolerant.  You tell me I shouldn't complain if they push me to my knees to pray.  You hate me if I try to even pretend I'm right.  Or you pray for me because you think I've got it bad.  Well, I haven't got it bad - in fact, I'm stronger than I've ever been - and it isn't thanks to you.

You're more blind than I am, because you'll never see my point of view.  You'll always have a community to live in where you can be respected and included.  Me?  I'll have the same community - yours.  I'll get whatever you let me have.  Do you think I like that?  Do you think I want to live a life of this oppression?

(Nov. '84)

Thoughts Over a Donut and a Cuppa Joe Before Dawn

A cold, foggy morning.  I can barely see the road as I drive in the early darkness.

There is a bright light of civilization ahead.  As I enter the place, three or four weary, working-class faces look my way.  I feel odd and out of place.  There are many "regulars" who come here.  I'm not "regular" at all.

Confusion and self-doubt.  My thought processes always end in circumlocution.  Before 6:00 a.m., no one should be thinking about religion.  I have just heard the greatest speech about God, but I can't believe it.  I want to, or rather, I think I want to, but I really can't.  What he says seems so damned reasonable- well, some of it - I just can't stand to see him hurting because I've rejected his "truth".

As it grows lighter, more sagging-eyed people enter.  My mind is as fogged as the outdoors.  I can't see an end to my doubts.  I wonder if it matters at all.  I close my eyes for thirty seconds, and the misty sky has already turned a paler shade of blue.  Perhaps the sun will actually rise, today.  Perhaps there is a light to turn to...

(Nov. '84)