Confessional Poetry: "Hunting for--" & "Untangled Shadow"

Hunting For—
(Why not me?)) Confessional Poetry))


They always thought—said, ‘you can’t’ at the schools he attended, in the army, to him, by his friends
he’d walk in like whatsoever he had worked, days and nights, all hours. Hard times, often broke, steadfast with mule-
like fortitude, he marched on, the underdog turned wolf as if from underneath some curse a devils spell that was long planted.
‘You mustn’t tire,’ he told himself, of the dreams and past efforts he could admire, if only by himself and over in his mind—he climbed
to the top of the heap, where tired men sleep, and pushed on, like granite. He wrote book after
book and traveled the worldwide, and measured his hours he’d spent, building his kingdom, becoming rich, helping family
and friends, winning prizes,
living in the moment, unafraid—no more pretense, saving all those attributes, those works of art that had carved his world so long ago.


#1703 2-27-2007



Note: Sometimes a deficit can be the stepping stone to success. My daughter was told, she’d never be able to read, mentally retarded; my son, Shawn who got 93% in a countrywide intelligence test, way above average, became a bum, and my daughter became a learner. That is to say, she learned to read and write, something her doctors and educators said she’d not be able to do. But day after day, after month after year, she did succeed. Also sometimes where we live the environment we live in, kind of spells out what we are supposed to be. I was raised in a troublesome neighborhood, the only one that went to college, and perhaps the only one to travel worldwide. You got to make a plan, and work it out. I’ve noticed on my way up, and when I was down, people give up. Perhaps that is good, it leaves some gaps open for me. The second insight I learned, was to grab opportunity, at one time I would have said, “Not me”, now I say, “why not me?” And go ahead with the plan.








Untangled Shadow (Confessional Poetry)

For three years I lived in her housenot knowing: had I not moved out, I’d had died: our weddingportrait I threw in the garbage, one suite case in handin the car; her face still staring as I left.You told me, there was no way then, to putit back; you wanted my house, keeping your’s also.Sunday at church, your children cursed my nameon the way out, and you kept the diamond ring

safe, hidden with photographs I might have taken back,and there was no guilt unless you borrowed somefrom him. Months later we met, you told me he leftyou, he was sick like me, and said “If you can leave him
why not me?” he was already prepared, not like me;he saw and untangle the blueprint, hidden under yourshadow, moving towards him, and he ran.

#1704 2-27-2007




Note: Today is not like it used to be, and the use to be was in the 40s and 50s, when there was a stigma if you got a divorce, or if you had children, being raised in a second marriage by the husband who is not the father. In most cases, it seems, it can be a thankless joy, and the children do get in-between. And women do marry men for the wrong reasons, and perhaps they are right to them, wrong for the man, in this case, to help with raising them, as in the poem above, “Untangled Shadow.” We don’t need to point fingers, or blame others, but we do need to work out the emotions, the hurt, for people do get angry, or hurt in the process: children as well as the marriage couple. There is no secret formula, only honesty, if that can be laid on the table, before hand.