I had a blog here in 2013
riddled with quasi-religious
poetry and redundant imagery.
I used the same words and
phrases to convey something
that wasn’t even clear to me.
Chaff, grain, tree, moss —
words I’ve now almost eliminated
from my lexicon, depicting some
throes and triumph, some
vague battle that didn’t make
much sense. I wrote 6 to 7 poems
a day, praising God with broken
Hallelujahs and terrible
doctrine that makes Jordan Peterson
look like a saint. I’d read a quote
by Augustine or Kierkegaard
and prattle on about some
spiritual awakening or enlightenment,
tossing in bits and pieces from
my personal life, which I deemed
a Kafkaesque (another overused word)
hell. I’d write about medication
and changes in moods, lucid dreams
and utter nonsense. Some poems
were dark for the sake of being
dark. Not sorrowed dark,
or chaotic dark,
just dark dark. I’d begin
my rambles with
an O! and end it with a note of
false praise, reckoning myself as
a Psalmist. I’d even throw in a
cheesy love poem now and then.
They were cheap, without substance
and ended with ludicrous lines
like marry me my darling,
or Oh! How I love you!
I cringe each time I think of them
now. They remind me of bad
American Idol auditions where
some poor, deluded guy sings/squeaks
She Bangs out of tune,
and gives Simon,
Paula and Randy the giggles.
She loves, she loves, oh baby, when she
twists and turns, I go crazy ‘cause she
looks like Neruda’s Jewels
(Yeah, I probably
wrote that without considering the
innuendo), but she sings like the sea.
Oh! (Wait, it was O!) Marry me!
I love you! I love you! I love you!
Anyhow, that was then, and this is now,
but sometimes a time machine
of regret carries me to then
and makes it now. *Cringes and
Photo by Thiébaud Faix on Unsplash