My Way With Words has taken more than 50 years for me to create. Poems may follow a common theme or subject but mine do not. They were written with days or weeks or months between. Each was based on what was an immediate stimulant before my eyes. The exceptions were when something caught my eye that over time became a poem or found its own place within a poem.
An exception. War had major impact on my life. A group of poems touches not so much on battles but on its impact on me, a veteran, and how I expressed it. Wars are never too old to write about. Technology changes, pain, death, mourning and memories never do. There was a single experience that changed me. it was significant enough to inflict PTSD. That is expressed in the story, "Imagery of War - 1967". It probably took me nearly two years to complete because I wanted every word to be true to the actual experience. I believe I was successful. It contains the good, bad and ugly of war. It should bring an understanding of the internal conflicts a soldier goes through.
My Way With Words has taken more than 50 years for me to create. Poems may follow a common theme or subject but mine do not. They were written with days or weeks or months between. Each was based on what was an immediate stimulant before my eyes. The exceptions were when something caught my eye that over time became a poem or found its own place within a poem.
An exception. War had major impact on my life. A group of poems touches not so much on battles but on its impact on me, a veteran, and how I expressed it. Wars are never too old to write about. Technology changes, pain, death, mourning and memories never do. There was a single experience that changed me. it was significant enough to inflict PTSD. That is expressed in the story, "Imagery of War - 1967". It probably took me nearly two years to complete because I wanted every word to be true to the actual experience. I believe I was successful. It contains the good, bad and ugly of war. It should bring an understanding of the internal conflicts a soldier goes through.
House for Sale, commercial zoning with it
a storefront opens toward Ruscomb Street
convenient location, near schools and transportation
Roosevelt Blvd a short way off
near Huntington Park and its carousel
that carousel is working once again
once silent pipes and wooden horses dulled
without the polish caused by constant use and a child’s touch
but someone cared and music blows on summer nights
and children laugh and grasp the brass and silver rings
it is a handyman’s delight both in and out
but that should not deter the average person
in spring the sun will shift and warm the place
the roses and the hyacinth springing to life
give fragrances that sooth all other senses
I remember when the vines were planted
it seemed like years before the limbs were bent
with purple concord grapes ripening in the warm September sun
we could not pick them fast enough and overripe
they’d drop fermenting on the ground
I do not know how long it stood
nor what it’s worth today at market value
the plaster walls are crumbling underneath the paint
that’s layered new each year its former color faded
or eyes grew tired
sometimes I longed for chalky plaster white
when mother picked the colors for the painter
lime-green and rouge and tangerine were hers
a shock to sensibilities upon entering
but stomach filled and instant coffee hot would quickly sooth
it’s now for sale though I wonder who would buy
it’s oil heated with furnace on the verge of failure
water pipes are suffering from mineral angina
wait an hour for hot water after a quick shower
make sure you turn the heat down
I don’t recall if burning coal was better
I was a child who played around the black pile
and long before the memories would be lasting
we modernized to what it is today
a relic of a changing world and changing times
four bedrooms once were occupied for twenty years
one bath would service two or lines were formed
till a toilet found a place within the laundry room two stories down
the stairs are badly worn
as the carpets that cover them
it’s not from time the aging carpets frayed
But many feet that trampled on that single path
our home was always open to the neighborhood
and never once saw a single stranger banned
once a bag lady occupied our basement through the winter
do we really want to sell, though it’s stood beyond its time
to me there’s so much more than can be found beneath the surface
but the natural spring where once we gathered water for the house
and the lake where once we swam on summer weekends
and the neighbors I remember are no more
from time to time, I left the neighborhood
returning to a changing world from childhood
and more and more I wept for moments lost
and angered I moved on with new resolve
to hone a life that more reflected me.
but I’ve learned that what I am is what I was
and moving on is not itself a moving on
till I take the past and place it in a case of glass
and see the moments as they often were
a sharing with the many, who are no longer here.
that world is no more than what I’ve placed upon this page
and buildings cannot house or alter memories
if the structure standing now was a gaping hole
pictures of what was would be with me still
so, no loss with the posting of the notice, House for Sale
My Way with Words captures various snippets from the life of the poet spanning across half a century and in doing so, one could perhaps consider it as a sort of testimony to the lives of war veterans or a memoir. Although the poetry in itself has much left to be desired, lacking sometimes in rhythm or cadence, multiple words brought together haphazardly, often awkwardly phrased, yet the broader themes that they touch upon and the lived experiences they draw their strength from has a lingering aftertaste.
Surprisingly, it helps us understand maybe to some extent the complex cluster of emotions felt by a retired soldier, the constant survivor's guilt or the neverending state of vigilence, the sense of deep loss and anguish or the burden of trauma that they inevitably end up carrying for the rest of their lives for participating in something that they had very little control over. Despite going through such inhumane ordeals, what remains as a beacon of hope is the fact that such men still wish to protect what is left of their memories as a child of family values, instead of becoming vehicles of further violence or agression, they choose to nurture sensitivity, their nostalgia for an untouched past before all this happened keeps them relatively grounded, and their enduring faith in people as well as their eagerness to seek solace in empathy and compassion becomes nothing short of inspiring.
This collection of poems and prose pieces consequently encourages us to question our own stereotypes about war veterans while helping us slightly grasp the long term effects of war and its inherent futality. Moreover, the photograph of the author's brother and his father adds a personal touch that brings a certain warmth. There is also a beautiful description of an unexpected friendship with a small boy from Khe Sanh, imbued with a particular tenderness that speaks volumes about the poet. On the whole, reading this book can be quite an eye-opening experience, highly recommended for those with a penchant for unusual anecdotes.