Some Poetry

Or Knowing Your Limitations

I enjoy poetry. I further like poets, people who can write it well (my friends Benjamin Fortier, Neville Johnson, and Mike Rodgrigue, as examples) and have found that though I’m an adept enough writer to attempt poetry, I’m not good at it. Alas, poetry is about expression and capturing essence and beauty outside of form and this week I’m sharing some of my poems.

I’ve considered assembling an anthology of my Shakespearean scribblings but that requires one, having enough poems to create a one; and two, being good enough that a publisher would pick it up and help get me on the slam circuit. Neither of these are gonna happen soon, and with the struggles I face getting my novel—my opus, Troops-In-Contact—published, the poetry project is staying in the bun warmer part of my writer’s kitchen.

My first poem was published in Lethal Mind’s Journal, edited and managed by my inestimable friend, Worth Parker (follow him and his journal on IG and other places). I share it here again, but you can find the original and other interesting stories at the LMJ Substack page.

The poems which follow this are my own, unpublished verses. I appreciate your patronage.

The Warrior

Was I not?

Brave.

Fearless.

Dependable.

Reckless.

I don't remember being

scared

But, I'm sure I was;

weren't we all?

Did I not?

Lead.

Act.

Do.

I tried to be like my heroes.

People didn't like me.

So, I tried harder.

Did I measure up?

Am I not?

Brave.

Scared.

A leader of Marines.

A killer?

But, who am I really?

The Greatest Generation is past and

we are not remembered.

We, too, shouldered the load of a Nation.

And we did it

for twenty years.

Alone.

And now I am:

Aimless.

Sad.

Tired.

Broken.

And for what?

I'd do it all over again

to be what others

only dreamed of.

And, to get it, they wouldn't trade places with me.

I'll take who I am, accept him,

embrace him.

And become what's next.

Haven't I earned it?

Haven't I.