Not long ago I came across a folder. It was tucked into a desk drawer and long forgotten. Inside the folder were a number of things I’d written years ago. There were small snippets of lyrics for songs I never finished and pieces of poetry.
I read through some of what I’d written thinking that I might find something that I could share here. That was my intent, but in reading, I came to two conclusions. The first is that I really don’t care for the person that I was at that time. Most of what I wrote was reflective of a young man looking for something or someone - a young man frustrated, stumbling through life, waiting. I suppose it was a stage I had to pass through.
The second thing I concluded is that what I thought was good poetry then, and remembered as being good poetry, is, in reality, not very good at all. It seems rather sophomoric now and causes me to wonder how someone filled with such angst could not have composed something better. Even so, I can find the odd line or passage here and there that doesn’t seem so bad. I don’t know. Perhaps I am an extremely bad judge of what constitutes good poetry.
I thought I might share just a small excerpt from a piece I wrote in 1987. The full text of the poem is a remembrance of an evening spent with good friends at a Crosby, Stills and Nash concert. The venue was the now shuttered Starwood Amphitheater. The weather was a quite pleasant for a July evening. The best word to describe the atmosphere is, hippie. It was a memorable evening and I closed my poetic telling of it with this.
When all has been said,
and my time comes to pass.
Lay me down gently,
on a carpet of green grass.
Play music softly,
and bring the stars closer too.
On that cool summer evening,
with the band and you.
Again, I really don’t know what is good poetry or what is bad poetry. Much like art, I know what I like and I like these lines.
The young man who wrote those came through. He is now just beyond middle age and has experienced much in life. He has been blessed with a wonderful, a loving family and some of the best friends a person could ever hope for.
Now I look back at words I wrote 25 years ago yesterday. The setting is much different, but the sentiment is the same.
~ Greg
Very nice.
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