“When power leads man towards arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations.  When power narrows the area of man’s concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of his existence.  When power corrupts, poetry cleanses.”—John F. Kennedy

I have never shared my poetry before because I have always felt that—like my art—I can’t always tell when it’s good or bad.  According to a past art professor, all artists are generally unable to tell whether their work is good or bad.  I also believe that sharing unpublished poetry is like masturbation.  It can feel good but most people probably don’t want to see it.  That’s why I’m only going to share previously-published poetry here.  (This way, everything you read was at least good enough for someone to actually publish it.)

I discovered this poem recently in one of my notebooks.  I believe it was published in the late 1980s but I also believe it was written either for a girl in high school who couldn’t decide if she wanted to neck with me and be a girlfriend or just hang out with me and be my “sister”.  Needless to say, grown women can be confusing to men let alone girls who don’t quite fully see the big picture themselves yet.

Haze

Haze

It used to be so easy just to love her

Now you seem to have other things on your mind

Not as much room for her as there used to be

Haze can’t see her clearly

Looks like you’re losing her

Slowly but surely

Still maybe

She can be the one to help you

Find all your solutions

Try it

All you need do is open the door

There’s nothing to wait for

Haze can’t see her clearly

Know you could be losing her

Slowly but surely

What’s there to gain by blocking her out?

You’re killing the love that you had

But is it truly dead?

Is it ever truly dead?

Haze don’t let her fade away

(K)no(w) you needn’t lose her

To the

Haze

—W. Scott Phoenix

(1986)

This poem could also have been written about the mother of my youngest son—William Jared James Phoenix or about any number of college co-eds I boinked.  (Yeah.  Boinked.  How’s that for poetry?)  The sad truth is I don’t honestly remember any more and I’m amazed that this was published!  Who knew?

“Writing free verse is like playing tennis with the net down.”—Robert Frost

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