look back at what used to be —
the things we did,
the thoughts we had before.
the different memories to be left behind..
at this point we ask for more..
the past is an enlightening vision,
something we passed
along our struggle to reach
where we now stand.
it is a masterpiece of life’s revelations,
a part of our life,
where we walked hand in hand.
now as I reminisce what was before,
I can’t help but feel regretful.
here we are,
at the end of the road,
ready to leave and proceed on
to another which is more meaningful.
the life we led before is very appealing,
we grew as we went on through the years,
we were able to learn a lot of things,
but most of all,
we learned the best side of our peers.
Thinking about having finished grade school and moving on to high school. Encoded 10/3/17.
Eight months is a long time for any space in the web to be dormant, but I am not giving up on my attempts to chronicle my work here.
I know where the older poetry are, and miracle of miracles, I have started writing again. However, I’m on the fence about publishing my work here for a hundred and one reasons. Only those who have written their own words would know that it is not uncommon that you struggle with the idea of publishing your work for everyone to read. It’s like giving the universe permission to take a peek into your mind and heart and soul, and that can feel frighteningly naked.
Plus there’s the additional chore of actually deciding on a way to organize the poetry. Chronological is now out of the question. Do I just keep writing and encoding as I find them and write them and just tag or categorize by years? Do I just keep encoding the older work and date them and just let it flow like a blog would, in the order they were published? Then again, that would defeat the first goal of actually organizing the prose I had written in all the years I have been trying to put my thoughts and feelings to words.
So let me try again, as the song goes. A poem a day or seven in a week. That’s good enough a pace to keep to get this going.
I started writing poems before I was ten. Even then, I knew to date my pieces and write them in a book of sorts I could go back to from time to time. I wrote very prolificly for the first 34 years of my life, and marriage and motherhood came and I stopped. Yes, for the last 16 years, I have only written one poem — last year.
There was a time before the age of computers when I attempted to type up the verses I wrote on scraps of paper. Then I finally gave up and just wrote them longhand in a neat fashion.
When I moved to New York in 2000, they weren’t a priority in my luggage allowance, but I eventually brought them here during one of the trips back home when we traveled as a family. They are here, tucked away in one of my storage closets. This year, I’m vowing to start typing them up for myself and for the world to read.
I don’t know that I can write them in chronological order. I am bound to find something that should come before this or that piece, and things might get pretty mixed up. They are dated where the date is available.
From time to time, you might find more than just the poem in the post. There might be a story to share or a memory or related photo. I write in very simple prose– often with very raw emotion. You will not need much thought to understand the message behind my words. Like most things I do and say, what you see is what you get.