In going through a box of papers I came a cross a pile of old old poems written in late 60’s, early 70’s in Cape Breton. So having no shame I’m resurrecting them with minimal editing. Enjoy 🙂
Razor Songs 1971
1
dancing in the snow
our bones clacking fixedly
in time with the dripping wax
that means our time will soon be black
& we will have to dance blind
never to see each other again
only feeling the cold slicing of the snow
through the satisfied winter air
in some distant hour I’ll fall into bed
roam through thwarted sleep
finding quick comfort with idle hands
now I am sleeping in a way
drifting in & out
filling cups of tea
in hopes of not looking up
to find myself stir a feeling
that feeling when I see you
shuffling through pencilled pages
mindful but busy
mindful but disbelieving
for I have lied before
am I lying now
2
words are like rain
like tears
like you
all I need are my words
the rain
my tears & you
but to have you I must
overcome my fear
of falling
into the abyss wherein lies
a pool of rain & tears
out of which no words can pull me
fantasy favours the wind swept tarns
sheer cliffs
sea beaten
ship wrecked
golden moors & haunted sounds
creaking doors & dangling diamonds
reality favours the sighted
I can see you now
reading
in a big backed chair
or in a hurry for your next frustration
happy to hear my voice as words
now know how frustrated I feel
knowing we are not in harmony
in bravery or even in person
I saw you then
heartless
on the edge of the bed
or between the sheets
happy to feel hands on you
happy to hear sighs of passion
knowing that you weren’t in harmony
only searching in the wrong person
for the right bravery
3
there is room somewhere for laughter
the cage cannot contain its sound
only its maker
bit I feel at times my sound
escapes this cage
only to be trapped by yours
a pocketful of laughter
spent by the time you
feel like seeing me cry
I’m letting myself sink
deeper & deeper into dust
no caring
for dust
like opium
removes my caring
my anxiety
replacing them with sighs
that tired aching arms cannot lift
so I must go on forever
hoping this is anger
hoping this is anger
anger to fight for fists
to beat away the anguish
of being warm for too long
but never caring enough to freeze
I fancy myself trapped
with dungeon rats
mouldy walls
& stagnant cistern water
waiting in anguish for the priest
but it is mere fancy
for here in this dungeon
I’m far too comfortable
to enjoy such a luxurious escape
4
an hour or so of being near
rips my pattern to pieces
I can pull together in a day or so
destroying the power the hour releases
in the form of frantic fear
I try to hand some joke line
about wanting you
when I really do
or am I lying
is each word
each motion
another step in my
futile attempt at sexual conquest
before I find my fantasies
more tantalizing than the sun
on her naked body
drifting on the water
walking over hot sand
demanding that I take
it all now or sometime later
when it won’t mean as much
to either of us
I was rather fond of numbered sections thanks to T.S. Eliot who wrote several poems with number sections. I never became as reference heavy as he did though. I was also fond of long pieces which were often shorter ones strung together & then edited with echoed references to create a sense of unity. I see my fascination with images, paradox & melodrama. Chalk the title up to melodrama.
‘I see you/shuffling’ is an actual moment of being with one of my male ‘crushes’ – who was an artist. I’m sure my sexual longing was apparent to him but it was never directly acted upon or communicated. A fear I never overcame, at the time.
The ‘her’ at the end, as opposed to ‘him’ was out of the fear of discovery by someone reading the piece then. I left it as written. Scholars sift though the writing & pasts of great closeted poets like Langston Hughes looking for clues that they were in fact queer. There’ll be no need to sift through mine 🙂
Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee on my trip to Cape Breton – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet
Your talent was obvious from the start!