my interest in planes brought me eventually to bombers..in canada then
a dominion of the crown we knew more lancaster pilots then young men..
bomb run through flak over defended cities....
my dad was not a veteran...just a drinker..maintenance
no lost work time..loved us kids..was not morose but upbeat
a happy person in his cups...
I become the monster instead with my drinking
we had good clothes...grooming..but we were native
I wasnt smart like the rest....but had artist talent
got bumped from the small group of friends
by the more experienced and popular and got
shunned in grade five....was like the poor i their
dirty clothes and unwashed bodies..we both
had stigmas...even the super brilliant outshone
the medial of the social structure...
my mother didnt cry..but berated my old man
for hours at night...her tongue was the angry
mill keeping us awake till three in morning
before he fell asleep...he played the happy
harmonica tunes over and over...
even though he was happy..happy songs
woke up sober no hang over and went too
work..shovelled the drive..in winter warmed
up mothers car and he loved her...it
was insane...no sleep for us...worried he
would snap...he never did...
his escape from his father and sadness
over his mothers death was that..
and other issues....

I was morose...but always bouyed up by
crazy hope and the random acts of kindness
the beautifuls in high whom I eventually met
years later they had more serious issues
going on then the little soap opera we had
they could relate too me!
only just felt this a few years ago
I was an observer for years
or felt like it..only in the last two years
when I woke up and realized the very people
who were nice too me and let me hang out
be a part of their lives do ..and did I see
that I am the same...a shocking cut through
of denial!
U are right
life certianly isnt happiness for some
I knew a guy who only knew foster homes
where he got put on farms..beaten up
etc and fed little food...I told him we
were spoiled but suffered in a different
manner...he said he would have at least
wanted too see how it felt too be spoiled
an eye opener for me..

this poem is raw and very honest
and not maudlin....or overbearing
in its depth....it need not be
the honesty of its voice speaks
in its power that word adage
extra would load it down

it is the tip of the iceberg

the portion that keeps afloat
while everything else is
submerged
much like the mind and its
tools of survival
so little is understood
so little comes to light
if any
like a thunderhead
showing only the little
minute of light in its
tension release of
power...the rest a
seething mass of
potential

I certianly relate to
this although I was
far more outspoken
and a critic..we
were taught too be
we were allowed
but then it was business
as usual till next friday
my mother left
my dad found a mate
more suitable
both enjoyed their
fifties onward

I dont find it cliche

the thin edged balance
like that line from apocalypse
now spoken by marlon
brando..."my nightmare is
the snail slithering along
the razors edge and surviving"

I dont mind...

Im fine....Im okay
everythings good

and the ability to write
"It stung like needles"
how I know this
when I began too fight
back...I got respect
and fear...
dont push me cause
Im close too the edge
sometimes I gotta
wonder how I keep
from going under...
lyric from a song
my women taught
me rap and hard rock
I thought it was cause
they wanted to be
tough and respected
for the edge...
I woke up and realized
they lived it
for real
the lyrics and feeling
of survival..angst
and maintaining
spirit via a warrior
voice I understand
now...

this is a very insightful
and deep poem
well versed

the use of eclipse
and third person
reference I have
witnessed first
hand in a couple
of people
my own personal
eclipses just happen
one minute Im
the light and the
next Im the shadow
I am myself in both
where many see
themselves and
can identify their
identity by their
name

fifty two now..
only in the past two
years has any of this
made sense
and a spring tour
with a friend and his
survival teachings too
me...jarred me awake
from the slumber

his line too me laughing
one day when we
were enjoying the drive
was..."U look like superman"
"And I am superman"
many of the males I knew
or know identify with the
stan lee heros
a doctor...a geophysist
still loves batman comix

i read them all..
we had stacks of these
but I was reading farley
mowat in grade five
all the rest were Hardy
Boyz...
I escaped in books
writing...drawing..

its refreshing too see
U writing in ways that
I can only dream of..
the true pain and horror
of those times may
be the bottom of my
berg
like the war metaphors
I relate too....
people put through something
that no one else should go
through..volunteered or
drafted...
like life...we just get put
through it and hopefully
come out the other side
intact and not damaging
anyone else let alone
ourselves..
and try to be kind
I know many who just
stay stuck forever
throwing people under
the bus in the form
of friendships...

this poem greatly
helped me
brought back a lot
of nice but hurting
people from school
I hope that I was
some kind of a
strength for them
like they were for
me...there was a crowd
come and go and we
never felt alone

Thank U!

There is a simple starkness here, like Esker says, without any affectation. You tell part of your story as it was. I love this direct and still poetic account of your early years. I found it very touching and humbling and apart from a couple of typos ( behind not behing and to not too both in same stanza) I would not change a thing. Jx

doesn't Have to be uplifting but concentrating on any one subject can put one in a rut. I know because I so often start writing and I suddenly realize "Damn! another nature poem!" lol......stan