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
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