by Craig G Bateman
Friday, January 02, 2004
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The very first 'poem' I ever wrote. Perhaps my first scream after being born was my first poem, it seems such an ethereal concept to talk about a 'poem'. It seems to denote something that moves us deeply and usually takes the form of words, and words can take so many shapes, such as speaking or writing or thinking, and even with those words we cannot understand ourselves.
4th floor down I saw her grace.
Coat and all, she beat the race.
The stairs were short, and badly planned,
I couldn't find the Marlo Man.
You'd think I'd see him smoking pen,
By the words he'd taken in.
But crowded, goofy, narrow walls.
Useless oblong standing dogs.
Silence grows in narrow halls,
And death breeds silence in us all.
(c) Remnant Songs Ltd. 1994
PS - This poem was written at a difficult juncture for me, in the middle of a desert experience.