Round and round he goes…

I realize that it’s time that I update again, and I wonder which gem from my youth I will share with you today. As I skim through my small collection of poetry, I notice one consistent theme: I was a whiney little cuss. I understand that I have already given you a sample, but I want to impress upon you the extent to which I whined.

What Can I Do?

I believe that this is another of the poems I wrote in the wake of my breakup from Emily. I have never been particularly fond of this poem, but I don’t actively dislike it, either. The final stanza gets the feeling across, but does so rather prosaically. In fact, I recognize that the final two lines were inspired by the final verse of “St. Patrick’s”, from Savatage’s Streets: A Rock Opera.


But if you find the time
Please change the story line
Or give a call
Explain it all
I’ll even leave the dime

That particular song can still make me somber and introspective. But, I digress. Here’s the poem:

What can I do,
when a heart is ripped in two?
What can I say,
when her love is taken away?
I sit and think and wonder why
Our love had to die.

One day I see it clear,
and be happy all the time.
But I’ll look back and cry,
I’ll love you till I die.

What can I feel,
while you grind my heart
under the wheel?
What can I think?
Cause it seems my life,
just sank.
If you find the time,
Please explain it to me.


I remember writing this one when, of all things, my friends went somewhere without me. Looking back, I find it rather amusing that it upset me that much, but I suppose that is the benefit of hindsight. Of course, it honestly bothers me – in a detached, looking-at-someone-else’s-work way – to see what I thought of myself in my teenage years. I weigh more now than I did back then, and yet, I have bucketloads more confidence in myself.

I almost wish I could share a bit of it with younger me, but that gets into paradoxes that I’m too tired to process tonight. So, here’s “whiney” poem, #2:

Ha! What a joke!
That word is so spiteful
I think I will choke!
I be my all,
cordial as can be,
but you spit in my face,
and walk over me.
So why would I need
friends who backstab and lie.
When I’ve got all
that and more at all other
parts of my life.

When I count on my friends
to help me up,
You just laugh and give a shove
toward the edge of the pit.
Which is where my heart will split.
No girls, can’t get them you see,
it’s just that I’m too ugly.
My friends are my second family.
You mean a lot to me,
so why commit murder
in the first degree?

In Closing

I could probably find another poem, but I’m still trying to keep this roughly chronologically ordered. Both of these were in the 1992 period, when I was writing like a madman. There are a couple of poems from 1997 that are downright self-flagellation on paper, but I have a poem that I love before that…

…and it should be next! J


One thought on “Round and round he goes…

  1. I don’t know if this is the type of commentary you’re looking for or interested in regarding this blog, but I find these glimpses into who you were rather telling. It helps me better understand who you are now and allows me to better sketch your character. Yes I’m still doing that, because your character is complex and fascinating.

    Of course, the thing which makes someone’s writing more than just words on a page is what feelings those words evoke in the reader. The snippets of your soul you’re sharing now- which I get the impression you did not write with the intention of sharing to this extent- are certainly not stagnant words on a page. Raw and unpolished, perhaps, but still highly evocative, especially to one who went through similar.

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