If a poem is a snapshot of one’s soul, then these are pictures of my emotionally turbulent late-teens.

Jewels
When I am dead and gone
Others will not know me
Not know my dreams, my fancy.
What was in life a brilliant jewel
Will but faded glass be.

I regret it never,
Because I know what will be.
Another my pity what was me;
My faded glass to their jewel.
I may be gone, but my children shall be!

EEk. I think that was written in November 1994 isn’t it awful. I wasn’t even thinking about marriage then, let alone children, so I don’t know where this came from.

Babies smell
Like milk
And soap
And Bananas.
(At least
If they have
Eaten them
Recently)
Babies wave
Their arms and legs
Randomly
While chortling.
Babies look cuddly
And sometimes are.
Babies cry
Cackle, and eat
A baby eating
Screws her face up
And munches
Thoughtfully
On her pudding.
Babies’ hair
Is so fine
And so light
That it floats
And sparkles
Like a halo.
Babies can’t talk
But communicate
Nonetheless.
Babies are precious,
Babies are valuable,
Do you want one?

Written in May of 1996, this was a playful question of Phil, when we thought we were getting married in a month. (his response to this poetic question was a firm No!) We did get married a year later, and then Glady came along in 1999, but she didn’t change my opinions about babies. That had to be one of the first times I ever babysat.

Poem for a Child on Christmas Eve

Look, child, beloved one, look!
Out here, just at the window.
Can you see, like a fairy brook,
The frost creep out the window?

Look beyond, far-sight, to see
The flakes drift down to cover
And hide the bare-brown tree.
This one, look here, soome to hover.

Each precios crytal flake
Rejoiced by you, my little friend
Will join with others to make
The very best sledding without end.

Falling, drifting, sleepy eyes
Your head is nodding, little one.
When your head on its pillow lies
You may dream of gifts and fun.

For tomorrow is celebration,
The best time of year for you,
And your joyous exaltation
Shall ring out, loud and true.
‘Tis Christmas.

I wrote this just before Christmas 1994, I guess I was already feeling the disconnect from my family - or maybe feeling nostalgic about my own childhhood. Phil’s note on the margin, dating from 1996, soon after we started dating, is to save this one for our kids.

I have a lot of poetry from 1994 to 1998, but I think most of it is just too terrible to ever see the light of day. Some of it is too tearingly personal for me to bare my soul to others, and a few, very few, I will reprint here. I am reminding myself of where I’ve been, in order to see where I am going, and how far the road has come since then.