A Bit of My Life Gone By

Not mine, but yeah, you get the idea!

My lovely, wonderful daughter, newly-married and newly-Ph.D, came over last Wednesday to help me continue cleaning out the garage where my things, among others, have come to rest peacefully since I moved in many years ago.  Initially, I went out after a couple of years to find that I had left boxes of photos in that damp, hot / cold environment.  I lost quite a few, but did salvage a large number.

Since that time, my stroke happened and I have neglected forgotten neglectly-forgotten (my word) to further the process.  Most of it will be trashed, but I know there are still a few boxes worth holding onto.

Back to the near past – we cleaned for awhile, then did some other needed chores in the house.  I work slowly now (more slowly) and have to stop a lot for breaks.  However, I did find a couple of boxes of items and we managed to get a couple to throw away, too.

One of the things we found was a folder containing some of my older poetry that I have not shared before (see post).  I thought that I would share some of it with all of you in my extended family.

I ask that you remember a few things:

1)  I am not editing any of it – it is the way it was.

2)  Just because I am printing it does not mean I still feel that way (you will understand).

3)  I do believe I write much better now. (I know, my opinion)

So, here we go:

1) May 1st, 1985 I entered a contest at College for poetry on Campus.  I received an “honorable mention”.  I think the idea of it got to them more than the poetry.

 

Phobia

By Scott L Vannatter 4/8/85

.

I fear the loss of my own life

The pain that it might bring.

But to fear the dark for the dark itself,

Is that so strange a thing?

.

And closed-in places, the ones with walls,

Should fear not linger there?

The loss of air, the skin tight squeeze,

Why should it not raise the hair?

.

Afraid of dogs, of planes, of heights,

The panic starts to steam.

My heart beats faster, the sweat to pour,

And my mind begins to scream.

.

Afraid of marriage, of love, of sex,

Surely many feel this way.

But to fear a bird who is high above,

There I hesitate to say.

.

Through my life I strived so hard

To try to comprehend

The reasons for these fears of mine,

And seek a timely end.

.

And then at last I beat my fears,

Now l live a life of joys.

Yes, nevermore to be afraid,

Oh God!  What was that noise?

________________________

2)

Questions

By Scott L Vannatter 9-20-91

None know the questions burning deep within.

.

The ripping soul-tearing nerve stabs that ask of life, answers.

.

Often asking and receiving not, giving and having not, crying and

Heard not.  The scream primal breaks free, ache and wretch of soul.

.

.                                                             Loneliness silences the questions.

Heart pumps crimson, stirs the inquisition of psyche and probes

Deep to core of that eternal emotion, fickle and painful though it is.

.

Asking repetition of clarity and need of hope for chance, the lover

Strains afraid to ask, to ask not.

.

None know the questions burning deep within.

___________________________

Please let me know what you think.  I have about a dozen more, some darker.  I would love to share them all with you, but only if I know you would like me to.

Namaste,

Scott