11. Selected Poetry by Marcus O'Dubhshlaine
Below you'll find some selected poetry, those things that kept popping up in my head, more or less complete. A lot of them address my problems due to my shyness, but subject areas were actually all over the map. These days things rarely pop into my head. It may be that what little creativity I had has been stifled from writing grant proposals, reports, and an occasional scientific article. Or perhaps poetry is more of a young man's pursuit. Most of my creative talents these days have gone into transpositions and arrangement of pieces for a handbell choir, or for a B-flat instrument. Those requests come occasionally from my church. But even those are becoming rare. I don't play the piano nearly as much as I used to do, and I bet the guitar only comes out two or three times per year. That's due to lack of time, and troubles I've had with my hands (they are not as nimble and quick as they used to be.) This narrative has been the longest thing I've written, save for some large grant proposals. This was definitely easier and more enjoyable.
The poem below is actually the introduction to the unpublished collection "Black-Eyed Susan." All I can say is, it's a bit silly:
Introduction
My poetry
has rhyme
about halt the time
and of meter
has around
half a milliliter.
The next poem was actually written for no one, but anticipates the problems I knew I'd have expressing myself to the opposite sex....any girl I might fall in love with.
Empty Words
All I say are empty words
Every word's meaning
Simply drifts away;
Each word is like a vessel holed
What I mean just leaks away.
Words just cannot hold
What I wish to say to you
This I mean with all I say
(Should I be so bold,
Should I tell this staightaway?)
I have, do and always will love you.
And somehow, I hope this,
My meaning, in my words leaks through.
The next poem shows I knew my own problem: shyness, but had no idea of what do do about it or how to overcome it. Even asking a girl out was a hard task for me, stealing myself up for a possible "no." Getting the nerve up to ask a girl out could take me weeks, and sometimes more than a month. Unfortunately, I did hear a lot of that word "no."
Idiot Ego (or Introvert Extreme)
The situation says act, move
Now! Ask her out now!
But the weakling ego
faltering, fragile, eggshell thing
Says "What if she refuses,
what if she says no,
what if she won't?
I couldn't take this blow--"
So ask I don't.
Oh introvert thing am I,
A thousand miles past shy
Why--why--why?
The next poem is a definitely over-romanticized remembrance of my one and only high school date.
The Porch
It's late at night
a glaring hundred-watt light
hangs up above
But even that harsh light
can't harden the soft white
skin of my love
We kiss that night
under a glaring hundred-watt light
and promise love
She goes in the door
I turn and leave and yearn more
for my true love
The next poem is a bit different. I actually recited this to Lisa J. while we were driving through a very foggy countryside late at night in early October, off the top of my head. She was a bit spooked, and I teased her with this.
A Warning from Ichabod
Writhing tree shapes in the night
Are spirits who spook and fright!
Hurry, quickly, on your way!
Find shelter 'til break of day
When all the spirits must sleep
And you, your own head may keep!
The next poem describes my dissatisfaction with the way things were going for me the first semester (1974) of my senior year of undergraduate classes at Cal State Fullerton.
Living, Almost
Haplessly hoping
helplessly hoping
mindlessly moping
about life
not nearly coping
with it as it is:
The golden possibilities
drip through my hands cupped for these
just like a sieve.
Why is life as it is?
The next poem I wrote while in the hospital for my knee operation in the spring of 1973. The imagery is probably a combination of being on codeine and phenobarbitol for pain (codeine is not a very good pain medication, but the phenobarbitol dose was high enough to make one not care about anything. I stopped taking the pain meds, since I can't stand to be foggy-headed.) and attempting to read Frank Herbert's "Dune" at the same time.
My Life
Silently sifting through my hands
Sadly drifting through alien lands
Joyfully I see it come:
Wistfully I see it go:
Ebb and flow.
Good times,
Bad times
Just time,
Sad time
Flowing, draining through my hands
Sifting grain by grain through my hands-
Everyday wondering when
The last grain will come
Does it matter? None.
For when it comes,
I am done.
Much of the poetry I've written had to do with relationships and introspection. This next poem has to do with a relationship, but not with anyone here on earth....it's about my relationship with God. I've been a Christian all my life and religion has always played an important part in my life.
Faith, Omnipotence, Grace, and Thanks
Where is my faith?
In the earth,
In the sun,
In the sea?
No, my Lord, my faith is in Thee.
Who made the universe?
Made the stars,
Made the palnets,
Made the sea?
Oh, my Lord these were made by Thee.
And who saved me?
Did the earth,
Did the sun,
Did the sea?
No, myLord, you alone saved me.
And who should I thank?
Thank the earth,
Thank the sun,
Thank the sea?
No, my Lord, I should thank Thee
Oh, my Lord, I do thank Thee
Oh, my Lord, I shall thank me.
The last poem I'll include here is "Jo Anne." Jo Anne C.(her real name) I took to a function at school in one of the classes we were in together at Cal State Fullerton simply because she lived in La Habra near my parents. We had a discussion of what we were looking for in the opposite sex for a relationship. I was not extremely impressed with Jo Anne's shopping list. Joe Anne was definitely not my type, although she was quite attractive. We had also gone to high school together, so knew each other already. Joe Anne was an attractive girl, but neither of us was ever attracted to the other. We were just acquaintances.
Jo Anne
Jo Anne
Needs a man
Eyes:blue
Skin: tan
Height: six-two
Hair:blonde
Jo Anne's list.
It's easy to see
that she's missed.
Jo Anne wake up!
Look deeper, appearance
doesn't count:!
No avail.
Let her tread
her foolish trail.
Jo Anne
Needs a man
Eyes:blue
Skin: tan
Height: six-two
Hair:blonde
Jo Anne's list.
But the most important
ingredient is sadly missed.
for there is no love
On Jo Anne's list.
All poems above are from the unpublished collection "Black-Eyed Susan."
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