Poetry Revisited

I began writing poetry when I was about 16 years old.  I found it as a way to express myself to myself and others.  Sometimes I’d head down to the lake, park my butt on a picnic table with a pad of paper and just start writing about anything that came to mind.  Any girl I took a fancy to was sure to get a poem from me, right up to my wife several years later.  I learned how to be the world’s fastest two-fingered typist by taking those scratchings off those pads of paper and sending them through a manual type writer.  I hardly write poetry these days, as the time to do so doesn’t always exist.  But this morning I was sitting at work on my last day before a two-week vacation, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to do any real work, so I opened Word and began to type.

Here’s what happened.  I’m not really sure what it all means, but it happened nonetheless.

Chains and shackles, they bound my wrists, my ankles, and my heart
Their weight bearing down and taking me to the bottom of my own personal well
Way down, deep down, so many untold secrets I wish I could tell
Struck down by a wave as powerful as death, something so undeniably strong
I stand in awe of its power and I bow before it, knowing I am of no match and unworthy
I am defeated by the raw human emotion I feel,
I am humbled by the shear strength of this boundless heave
The ocean’s undertow tears me away, its riptide dragging me under its secret surface
I grasp to find anything, a breath, something to hold onto, or something to help save my soul
But this ribbon of time is narrow and the air I can breathe has escaped me
                And darkened is my soul, gone is the light I see
It is a learned apathy that brings me to this place, this forbidden landscape bound and uncertain
For legends lost I must take this path and seek for my lost and ‘lorned brother, down deeply in this well
                Deeply down in this hell
There is no fury hath been seen before, by unnumbered souls scattered as waste
There is no bitter darkness from where the sun does shine in powerful and trusted haste
The old, wretched man and his young, beautiful bride with flowered bouquet
                Dance lightly, silently, softly upon the virgin green
Until their wave comes and sweeps them away, down into my deep well,
My silent and darkened hell
And we seek again the answers of old, the reasons anew, and a love that is true.

Damn, that’s heavy!

Leave a comment


  1. Janette Lutian

     /  June 22, 2012

    Awesome, Kurt! Keep it coming, I will watch for more inspiring poetry!

    • KDawg

       /  June 23, 2012

      Why, thank you Mrs. Lutian! Thanks for stopping by. I think I’m going to be writing more poetry in the future. Tell your husband I said hello!

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