| RETRO POETRY PART 2 |
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| Written by Tammie Crosby | |
| Friday, 10 August 2007 | |
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RETRO POETRY PART 2
At last!!! I found more of my old poetry and am including some of it in this blog. My first Retro Poetry seemed to be popular so I hope this one will be as well. These are glimpses of my past and what I was going through or what I felt during those times. You arm-chair psychiatrists should have a fun time with these…they range from humorous to lightly morbid. Looking back at them, even I wonder if I was truly that depressed or was there really more than I remember.
Opinions and feedback are always welcome…just make sure to keep it clean and no profanity.
(This first one sort of hits home more than I care to admit and it seems even more true now than then.)
TO DREAMERS
By Tamera Crosby
03/1986
To those who dream of glory
And fleeting, fickle fame,
I send this word of warning
From one who’s done the same.
I, too, have dreamt of riches
And countless things untold
But I have never reached them,
For me, they were too bold.
I lacked the drive and know-how
To carry out my schemes.
I took too hard the setbacks
And lost sight of my dreams.
Now, I pray for all you dreamers
To listen to me well
And learn from this old failure
The lesson that I tell.
Learn early what you want of life:
Don’t set your goals TOO high;
Remember to act prudently
But give it your best try;
Don’t fumble at the setbacks
When everyone says no,
Just buckle up your courage
And double up your go,
For nothing does come easy
Though there are those who say
That life owes you a living
While you do naught but play.
I listened to those shysters
When I knew that I should not
Because it was the easy way
And look at what I’ve got:
A dingy room all cluttered
With the things that might have been
And shattered bits of memory,
So wispy, paper-thin.
Were I to start all over
With the knowledge I have found,
I would dream my dreams but strive
To keep my feet upon the ground.
I’d start out slow and, step by step,
Achieve each separate goal
By storing ‘way my resources
And skirting each deep hole,
Until, at last, I’d find myself
Where I now long to be
With food upon the table
And simple luxury.
So listen, dreamer, to my words
And you shall surely see
That dreams are fine objectives
If viewed realistically.
*****
(I actually have this sewing machine…an old Singer Sewing Machine…and I do still use it.)
TO A SINGER SEWING MACHINE
By Tamera Crosby
03/1984
She shutters and she stutters as
She whizzes along,
She’s an old, black Singer
With a wordless song.
Her form is sleek,
Her hand is fast,
And she feeds out a line
That was meant to last.
She’s been through a lot,
This grand old dame,
And none of her offspring
Can equal her fame.
They’re newer, more now,
And know many a trick,
But she’s an old-timer
Who still can kick.
So, let others adopt the younger set,
I’ll stay with her,
She’s darn good yet!
*****
(This one should strike home to many people…I know it did and still does to me.)
MAIL ORDER DIET
By Tamera Crosby
04/1986
There is a new miracle diet,
So say the brochures if you try it,
You eat all you want,
Whatever you want,
Whenever your heart desires it.
It’s as easy as pie,
As tasty as cake,
With results that are guaranteed.
Just take one small pill
Before every meal
And two before going to bed.
It works just like magic
If you’ll only believe,
For being fat’s all in your head.
*****
(This one does lean a bit on the morbid side but I was an aspiring science fiction writer at the time this was written and it was connected to a story line I was developing. It sort of gives the entire story in capsulated form but the story was going to be quite a bit more complex than simply stated in this poem.)
THE ALTERED WORLD
By Tamera Crosby
1986
The serene silence of the night fills me
Until the sounds of the dawn come to life.
I stretch and sigh, grasping at the shattered remnants of peace.
The empty night gnaws at my being
As the air fills with dins and dangs, clatters and clangs.
The morning is awake and busily sorting through the razed rubble of the past.
The afterglow of the silence still warms me
And I bask in it as I once basked upon sunny beaches.
The beaches are no more.
The sands are shot with the rot and the ruin of the
War To End All Wars,
The Ten Minute War,
The War which turned the world into a mangled mass,
Smoldering, blackened, and helpless.
Scavengers scrounge through the dingy debris,
Sifting for food to feed what life is left within them,
I move to seek shelter from the growing orange light
And from the bold Day Hunters who fear the night.
Then, I shall sleep...
And, when once more the chilling sun sets,
I shall rise and go forth into the World,
The Altered World,
The World which made me what I am...
A Mutant...
A Monster...
A Vampire.
*****
(I want to end this article on a bit more of an upbeat note, so I am including one of my poems about writing...of which I have several.)
SATISFACTION
By Tamera Crosby
04/1986
There's a certain elation,
A gratification,
When a writer sits down to write.
Mysteries unfold,
Stories are told,
And common words take flight.
Pictures are formed,
Cold hearts are warmed,
And new characters come to life.
Struggles commence,
Moments get tense,
And all contend with strife.
The writer re-writes,
Stays up endless nights,
And works toward one goal,
To reach the conclusion,
The end of illusion,
And the satisfaction of his soul.
*****
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| Last Updated ( Tuesday, 28 October 2008 ) |
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