I remember deliberately writing a poem when I was in high school. All I remember of it though is that it was about a father and his child and the natural world that was--as the one in which they lived had been wasted. I remember another deliberate writing project from when I was at Hamilton Elementary in San Diego, California. It was Halloween and we had an assignment to write a scary story. All I remember of it was that it was about a piece of paper carried on a late night wind that looked like a scull floating in the air.
I think I remember these stories because I used my own thoughts and imagination to create them.
Mostly I remember writing to be a chore. Drawing was my innate talent that I took to quite naturally--being able, at an early elementary age, to draw perspective and copy exactly. I do remember, while writing the story of the skull, playing with the words and sentences to make the story plausible. For the most part, I avoided writing in high school but, it was the time when I wrote of the earth that was.
When I was in my mid-twenties, in the US Air Force and stationed in England, I took a writing class. Our introductory assignment was quite revealing--I had made it through high school without learning to write.
I liked the teacher, though I do not remember her name, and I will always remember her telling us that the best stories we can tell are when we write about what we know. Im knowing things these days. It was also around this time, when I was in England, that i wrote in a letter to my mom telling her of how I wanted to write some day.
After the Air Force and a bit of wandering, I landed back in Southern California and tried twice to take a writing class. My restless mind would not let me focus so both attempts were a drop-out.
So when did my desire to write return to me? I believe it was while I was living in Cascabel in SE Arizona. "Be" was one of my first poems and I do remember telling myself that if I want to write that I have to take it serious--be deliberate in my attempts. I was also around at this time that I wrote "And So Much More", which may have been before "Be" though I can't be sure. I do know that it was the poem I sent to my long-time friend Carl in San Diego. He spoke well of it, saying that he thought it was written by a poet. He may have not realized at first that I wrote it. This reminds me of two other poems I wrote when living at Carl's on Dale Street. They were about prejudice/perception and knowing/intuition and I do not remember their words.
So it was in Cascabel Arizona when I began in earnest to write. Damn Im slow, being that that was - as of this date, August 23rd, 2011- about eleven or twelve years ago. During this time, up to my leaving for Portland Oregon I wrote - besides the two afore mentioned poems - Separate Circles, which is my only poem that is not based on personal experience (I totally made it up); Personal Influence; They Shall Find Us; Comfort Food, while I lived briefly in Tulsa Oklahoma; The Wall; Eyes; Painting With a Friend; This Is Not a Poem...; and New Things, which is actually a dream that translated perfectly into a poem--the only one to date, 8-23-2011.
Most of this writing was to express emotional pain or confusion. For me they are cathartic, though the emotion has passed by the time I get to writing them. Well, that is not true for 'Eyes' and 'This Is Not a Poem...' I was in a state when I began to write them and the writing released me.
My last months in Tucson were quite troublesome, I mean, as soon as I thought my life was fine fucking SMACK! right up-side the head.
The earth shook and the universe split.
I ended up in Portland but the shake-up was not complete.
