First Poems
07/05/08 07:17 Filed in: Poetry
Last year in October I went through a phase of “doom and gloom”. I’m normally a very positive person although I must confess that during despairing times my writing output can be prolific.
It was then that I first turned my hand to poetry. I wrote my first two poems, both of them in blank verse. The sadness seeps through them both. I still find them very poignant.
Here they are:
Do you know who you are?
Do you know who you are?
You, whose sweetness I can smell on the sheets
My face glued to the place where you lay.
You, whose touch sends longing through my soul,
Whose smile melts in my eyes,
Whose tenderness stirs deep inside me.
Do you know who you are?
Do you know who I am?
A man who had emptied his soul
Who sank in pain, despair and brokenness so deep
That emptiness felt like some relief.
A man who had locked and shackled his heart
And barred his insides from women like you.
Do you know who I am?
But do you know who I really am?
My mistakes
My failings
My pains
My errors of judgment
My hurt inside
My guilt
My vulnerability
My stubbornness
My stupidity
My impulsiveness
My blindness
My arrogance – always an illusion
I never wished to touch you with these weaknesses
There is another me:
Loving
Tender
Warm
Gentle
Open
Strong, but vulnerable
Mortal
Kind
Generous-hearted
Loyal
Faithful
Passionate
Intuitive
Insightful
Sexual
Sensual
Honest
With humility as well as arrogance
So now may I know you too?
And will you accept me as I am?
Full of contradictions and failings
Struggling to find the light of your love
And the truth of our desire.
That does say a lot about me in very few words. Here’s another:
I am not a bad poem
I am not a bad poem,
Though once I was scratched
From a lavatory wall
For my good taste.
I am not a playful poem
That jumps and pranks
That laughs and smiles
And plays in children’s chants.
I do not sing and fail to rhyme.
I am not a love poem:
Full of wants and desires,
Of boundless giving,
Of some joy fulfilled,
That I may never know.
I may be a sad poem:
Of barren emptiness
Of loves lost and hopes dashed,
Of life almost passed
Unknowing and unknown.
Perhaps I am life’s own poem:
Of birth and death
With brief time in-between
That I should have cherished
More than I did.
It was then that I first turned my hand to poetry. I wrote my first two poems, both of them in blank verse. The sadness seeps through them both. I still find them very poignant.
Here they are:
Do you know who you are?
Do you know who you are?
You, whose sweetness I can smell on the sheets
My face glued to the place where you lay.
You, whose touch sends longing through my soul,
Whose smile melts in my eyes,
Whose tenderness stirs deep inside me.
Do you know who you are?
Do you know who I am?
A man who had emptied his soul
Who sank in pain, despair and brokenness so deep
That emptiness felt like some relief.
A man who had locked and shackled his heart
And barred his insides from women like you.
Do you know who I am?
But do you know who I really am?
My mistakes
My failings
My pains
My errors of judgment
My hurt inside
My guilt
My vulnerability
My stubbornness
My stupidity
My impulsiveness
My blindness
My arrogance – always an illusion
I never wished to touch you with these weaknesses
There is another me:
Loving
Tender
Warm
Gentle
Open
Strong, but vulnerable
Mortal
Kind
Generous-hearted
Loyal
Faithful
Passionate
Intuitive
Insightful
Sexual
Sensual
Honest
With humility as well as arrogance
So now may I know you too?
And will you accept me as I am?
Full of contradictions and failings
Struggling to find the light of your love
And the truth of our desire.
That does say a lot about me in very few words. Here’s another:
I am not a bad poem
I am not a bad poem,
Though once I was scratched
From a lavatory wall
For my good taste.
I am not a playful poem
That jumps and pranks
That laughs and smiles
And plays in children’s chants.
I do not sing and fail to rhyme.
I am not a love poem:
Full of wants and desires,
Of boundless giving,
Of some joy fulfilled,
That I may never know.
I may be a sad poem:
Of barren emptiness
Of loves lost and hopes dashed,
Of life almost passed
Unknowing and unknown.
Perhaps I am life’s own poem:
Of birth and death
With brief time in-between
That I should have cherished
More than I did.
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