Still the Early Bits of Life – 2 Poems

The darker time of my life.  Simple explanation:  the first poem is about knowing you should divorce, but deciding to stick with it one more time because of hope, mostly.

The second one is, I think, my darkest one.  I remember writing it at work (yeah, the muse hit at a bad time).  I was depressed.  I had broken up with someone who I thought was very special and the one.  She wasn’t and it did not go well at all, hence, my depression.

______________________________________

(unnamed)

By Scott L Vannatter

May 14, 1986

And what was I to do?

___ YOU, sitting there crying, sighing

and I, lost, as usual, not knowing

what to say

what to do.

The words dribble out, the rope slipping,

white gown, ring, and promises sliding down the slope

to be lost FOREVER.

Endless word, circling upon itself and beginning again,

heading back toward that same, fitful end. –sorry-

Such a fragile gift, hands clasped, vows solemn and meant

Care, Love, Life co-exist, mingled with reality and pain.

Then pain moves to the front, other three settle,

waiting – often in vain – for  their (last?) chance.

Trust falters, Anger loves, decibel voices, clear – uncomprehensible.

circling vultures, dark foreboding of the end act.

thread swinging just out of reach.

A leap into the abyss and the choice is made.

The fingers slapping thread and grasping for life.

Hang on! And the i becomes I becomes US once more.

__________________________________________________

Now That the Blackness has Gone

By Scott L Vannatter

9/11/91

Now that the blackness has gone, the swirling void

no longer empty, I am scared.

Blackness is certain, ability to know all exists there.

The pattern now falls into a chaotic maelstrom of events,

each separate but intertwined into an inconceivable lacework

of frantic bits.

I lose myself at times in the seeming senselessness of

it all, and I run, slowly at first, then at a screaming pace

until I collapse breathless and shake in confusion.

Choices abound in a never-ending tornado of life, is life.

I look back, over shoulder, seeing the past catch up, a

horse coming from behind to pass by sneering.

Changes made, outward then inward, slowly then quickly,

a new mold made by cracks and patches, pain stretching the shape

making mountains of molehills, molehills of mountains, a new me.

The change is scariest.  For in the changing I lose the me

of old, a dear friend –to the end- to the end of ends.  (Amen)

The Phoenix rises, but only after the burns have ceased.

I feel the searing, tearing, stabbing, jabbing, pain heats

to nova, exploding in heat of passing passion, confusing senses and

mind spots, thoughts of it all, of nothing at all.

A spot of light, shaft of brilliance, guidance, a hand-hold

to mind-sense.  To this I cling, sing, bring a roulette turn of life to the chaos.

This be the God of me, mine, and I see through my blindness

the specter of man-hope.  Grasping for the straw, the carousel ring,

I wiggle in my saddle, almost fall but held up by helpful hands, I

stack the blocks, one on the other, and the foundation will strong

remain.  I scared, I am, I will ever be – me – to the end (Amen).

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Comments

  • Rhonda L. Brockmeyer  On May 31, 2013 at 5:55 am

    I have read a few. These are my favourites here but all are very introspective and well written. Journal poetry is such a release of our stresses. Well shown here as you worked through some very painful stuff. Hope you are well Scott.

    Like

  • Larry  On May 28, 2013 at 6:51 pm

    Life and love are so confusing when we are young. Then, when they finally make sense, we are too old. Or, as the saying goes: ” too soon old, too late smart”.

    Like

  • thehappyhugger  On May 28, 2013 at 5:36 am

    These are dark, Scott, but it is a wonderful relief to write this way when one is in the darkest of dark, don’t you think?

    Like

    • kindredspirit23  On May 28, 2013 at 12:49 pm

      Yes, it helped me a lot to be able to convey, even to myself, how I felt at the time. The poem was dark, but safe. I didn’t have to do anything, just write.
      Scott

      Like

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