I decided to peruse my bookshelf last night while unable to sleep, and I found an old book of poetry that I had purchased long ago from a Kanawha County Libraries book sale. I decided to read through it, and much to my surprise I discovered that I could identify greatly with a number of the poems. I have decided to share them here, so without any further ado:
Selected Fragments by Michael Maynard Slingerland
The bobbie says
Toleration; I don’t need you,
I don’t want you,
I don’t like you,
I don’t believe you.
The old man in the broken-down shoes says
Loneliness; I suffer you,
I build walls,
I understand,
I love you.
The Teddy bear says
Want me; I need someone,
hold me,
kiss me,
take me to a time away from this one.
There’s one in every family:
the quiet one,
the one that likes to be alone,
the tender ome.
I know if this firsthand:
for I am one
of those misjudged ones;
but, they don’t know
Do the know:
the difficulties of emotion,
the stirrings and the longings,
the pains of trying to be normal?
Do they know:
the fear of life and the living,
the torture of thoughts,
the yearning to be free and easy.
Sometimes this one needs:
to be respected as one,
to be looked at without ridicule,
to be loved in all seriousness.
For all the ones of the world:
I shed many tears for you,
I pray for you to be whole,
I share with you a life of suffering.
The healing quality of a memory;
some would dispute the therapeutic value;
and some would claim sheer balderdash;
in no uncertain terms I would fight them all;
because the memory of yesterday, was a dream of the day before;
and we all need to dream someday;
a memory;
I
Sometimes I try to make sense of my life;
and I am always left feeling empty;
as if a vacuum has sucked out the parts I need to feel loved, to feel hurt;
now I only feel trampled and void;
like trash scattering in the wind, I am never really anything;
or anyone necessary.
Lately the mirror has been most disturbing;
I look;
and I look again for something not there;
but I cannot put a finger to the unknown image;
but, instead I pass severe and painful judgements upon myself;
and I like this;
yes the critic likes his work;
hit, hit and again hit;
hit for the common look;
this haggard and harried look;
the common look I am.
I look; I look with much indifference at the image of myself;
the mirror absorbs memory;
and I am not so split;
in fact I am almost a whole;
in the mirror world;
but then again the be-jesused mirror reflects the acute and lost aloneness of a man who searches;
looking for a half not there; but where is my love…
To be so lost as I
is to be blind in the light of the sun.
To be so alone as I
is to be a rock in a quarry by the ocean.
To be so unloved as I
is to be an orphan of nature in the desert.
Wonders: I am lost / I am alone / I am unloved
I continue to never know
for I am but a slip.
My mind; a cluttered attic;
gathered dust of ages.
Much mud and one large stick
disallows the turn of pages.
The blankness of the days
a never-ending battle to be won
with the end a clearing haze
showing nothing has been done.
Of myself; I wish to be free.
Resolution
Live for the future; but not dwell there…
Live for the past; in principle only…
Live for the present; and be better at it…
O, deep, dark death
look upon me
as I wait now
in your harbor
with ready sails
to set ablaze.
Cast off my life
o death, but
quickly, quickly!
My days are stark and a white sheet
on the line; in the Autumn decay.
My nights fitful; a rebelling youngster
no sleep for now; only a bedlamp.
There are no more words; for the moment
the body clock; now in the spin cycle.
I feel my own pain…tonight
othernights…much the same
I live…though not alive
I am always…my enemy
Killing and killing…the same
happy to kill…even my loves
Memory nourishes…this driftwood
trying to grow…I cut and cut
Not much left…the barebones me
never quite breaks; sea to shore.