Category Archives: poetry 1990’s

In the Mountains

A beautiful world
locked behind a door of hate.
You ignored the signs,
but some knew the upcoming fate.

“Screw off!” was yelled.
A fight broke out,
some kind of way to rebel.

We are all family.
It’s a lost day when we are run by money.
An imitation admiral led the crowd,
now there was nothing left that was funny.

army
shots
casualties
victims
war heroes
death

These last few years my friends and I stayed in
the mountains praying, delaying, and saying.

No one’s right; the future does not look bright.
But as long as we worship God, there will always be a light.

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I wrote this when I was 16, that’s about the mid 90’s. I have several like this from that time frame that feel eerily appropriate in these times. I had a religious/spiritual tone to them as well.

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Care About More Than You

As the rain gently creeps down the window,
it becomes a metaphor of nature crying.
Can you help,
or do you ignore?
My friends, the birds, are lost,
the poor conditions made it difficult to soar.

Did you notice the terror in the trees
when you cut them down?
Maybe you didn’t care
that you cause so much fear.

If you would only take more than a glance,
you would see a refreshing hope,
but you never give us a chance
to use the environment as a means to cope.
Do you care about anyone but yourselves?
You’re not the only one to live.
You never answered our call.
Why? We never wanted you to give.

Look harder,
you could see a good glory.
It’s obvious you care about one thing:
your own story.

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I wrote this in the mid 90’s. I can’t explain the way Henry David Thoreau’s writings expanded my mind, my thoughts. I read a soft cover collection of his works until it literally fell apart. I guess it reflects in the content.

Quick Glances

An image of you;
You and I.
Not this life, not this time.
Your beauty diffuses into a room,
doses of deadly gasses.
A few quick glances,
never a look again.

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Another poem from when I was 16.

Portrait of an American Poet

Ode to: Jim Morrison

Portrait of a poet:
Maybe the Lizard King,
maybe black leather dressed demon.
He self implies that he has the “soul of a clown,”
who blows it at the “most important moments.”

Drugs, liquor, women, art:
the ingredients of a male artist.
Mixed with talent and a vision
he found fame’s way,
lost the sunlight of the day.
Art made of pain,
an addiction
the media driving him insane.
up rise — down fall,
dead at 27.
Art lives on.

His art lives on.

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I wrote this sometime in late 1995, early 1996. Jim Morrison inspired me to write poetry and start delving into art. At that age, he helped me deal with my mental health issues I didn’t know I had yet. Loved The Doors as well. Not my favorite band now but will always hold that place in my heart.