Poetry and shooting stars

These things--these attempts to be poetic were written when I was 20. At that age everything is felt so intensely anyway, but I had a great lit. class at uni--taught by Prof. M. a cool guy from a small town north of Bountiful. (Great place names in Utah--you have to admit). Anyway, he taught us the importance of enjoying life, of rejoicing in the fact that we are alive and are sentient in so many gorgeous ways. We didn't have to write anything but MLA essays for his class, but it truly influenced me and I began to write.

Regardless of whether I actually wrote anything that was "good" or that anyone else might care to read--all of what I wrote was felt very keenly.

But, something strange happened when I came to Japan--I stopped writing. I think that one of causes was growth--growing up and away from being a teenager. Another was, in retrospect, an almost conscious decision to get away from literature and poetry and anything academic (not in any real book burning/anti intellectual rabid kind of way ; ) ) and just try to "live" my life in my own way for a while.

I have read a lot since then, but haven't written anything in forever. I think I felt like it was going to damage or alter me in some way.

All right, I'll shut up now...

This one is called:

Good things come...

When wind blows from deep darkness,
sweeping moonlit trails across the heavens

Watch the skies and wait for some small sign
hidden in the patches of sparkle strewn light.

Hold out for the star that's shot from the rest
and shines briefly but so well
that the night is left standing still
and trains moan low awe in the distance.

A better, updated version.


The wind blows a lot where I lived, both in southern and northern Utah. And in Milford, trains were always a part of my life--Grandpa was a brakeman. You can still hear the UP trains as you drift off to sleep.
And yeah, I moved on and more or less have grown up, but I am still grateful for and very fond of those who knew me before Japan. : )