Poetry Stream

6 November 2025

Here is another of the early blog posts, explaining how I became novelist, poet, and professor. I begin to describe the original impetus for poetry.

30 July 2012

At this point it seems right to discuss the beginnings of my other ‘stream,’ that of being a poet. I was introduced to writing poetry by my mother–who else? After being diagnosed as manic depressive (actually, it was ‘mild depression’ but we learned later on that the doctor ‘underdiagnosed’ it as a measure to assist in our recovery; why is it that the old-fashioned family doctor is wiser this way?), my mother suggested that it might help if I try to express my feelings in a poem; she further suggested, as a kind of beginning point, the ‘acrostic’ poem, which is, for those who do not recognize the name, a word written vertically on a blank page, then the poet creates a line that begins with the letter of that line, as below:

Depression

Darkness comes and demons must
Everyday my path to cross
Playing with my mind to try
Righteousness to keep from me
Echoes of insanity

Spend my days and all my nights
Suffering from the games they play
I’ll not be turned from where I’ll go
Or be blinded by the veil of dark
Night for all eternity.

Daylight comes and night must flee
Evil heart will fly from me
Poor the man whose soul is lost
Released from light by choices made
Ending far from home.

Savior’s love will me surround
Solace give to mend my heart
In spite of all they do or say
On his firm rock I know I build
Never failing of his trust.

No, not very good, but not bad for my first attempt at something I had little or no experience with (at the time); however, it illustrates the acrostic poem and was a first attempt at expressing feelings through this compact form.

I wrote several others after this one, trying different words–like ‘discouragement,’ and ‘gratitude’–or names of family members, and did not move from this pattern until my collaborator and I were joking around while cleaning, talking about our stories, and we started throwing out lyrics to a song we called “The Sorcerer’s Rap”–a very silly song, making a mock of that new genre of music. Several months passed before I finally wrote down the lyrics to this silly poem, and in the meantime, I tried a device called posing a question:

How do I feel?

How do I feel?
Oh I wish I could say!
My wishes are fishes
always swimming away.
Dawn has slipped by me
so has also the day
my life is a circle
someone show me the way.

Where will I go now?
How I wish I could tell!
My dreams will not purchase
a drink from the well.
The coinage is improper
to buy e’en a bell
which will ring out the message
that this whole world is Hell!

What will I do now?
Oh I wish I could see!
My children are crying
they sense darkness in me.
My sweetheart is sobbing
I can’t hear her plea
George Bailey went running
But I know I can’t flee.

To whom do I turn now?
You know I can see!
A Father in heaven
who always watches o’er me
He sends us sweet comfort
and His soft, kindly plea:
Trust your lives to my hands,
and you’ll come home to me.

Eek! What an awful poem (the content, not the form)! I was feeling quite low when I wrote that one! (That is the understatement of the week!). I even tried playing around with extended rhyme schemes to express and turn my ugly feelings . . . , uh, silly:

Depression Comes, Depression Goes

Depression comes
Depression goes
Depression flows
like a garden hose
but it’s full of holes
it’s been eaten by moles
hang it from your nose
it won’t water the rose
wish I could by a Rolls’
but that won’t score the goals
or put any clothes
on the bare-back that’s froze
I think my mind just closed.

Depression come
Depression goes
don’t dangle your toes
where the crocodile grows
he’ll bite off your nose
make it run like a hose
it’ll fade the red rose
on the emperor’s new clothes
the sun will refuse to glow
stop the rooster’s loud crow
the mind won’t start to blow
bring the clouds that’ll flow
with the rain that’ll grow
food for all the hungry Joes.

Depression comes
Depression goes
I can write poetry or prose
some days the story flows
on others, the anger grows
winds of frustration must blow
I tear a rent in my clothes
my face is red as the rose
my poetry will open a hole
my voice ceases to crow
depression flows out of the hose
now I’ll achieve all my goals.

It is incredibly hard not to edit these as I type them–some of those lines are, well, bad, but illustrate where my mind and writing were at the time (in the winter and spring of ‘92).

As I stated earlier, I ‘fell into’ a poetry class at UI, and began to work under a master poet, who helped me to find my poetic voice, exposing us to some of the best contemporary poets. . . .

To be continued. . . .

For those interested in our silly song, here are the lyrics we wrote as we cleaned toilets, dumped garbage, and shined windows:

The Sorcerer’s Rap

He’s mean, he’s green
‘bout to break upon your scene!
He’s white, quite the sight
‘bout to cause you a nasty fright!
He’s cruel, break a stool
‘bout to dump you in the cesspool!

‘Better run, ‘better hide
‘cause I think you’re gonna get fried!
Get outta town, or be the clown
‘cause I think you’re gonna go down!
Head outta here, you’re kinda queer
he’s gonna kick you in the ear!

His name is Elmo, quite the fellow
he’s a sorcerer who don’t say hello!
He’ll cast a spell, you don’t feel well
you’ll be shoveling coal in Hell!
That’s where it’s hot, you’ll be shot
Devil will put you on the spot!

Take my advice, he ain’t nice
he’s gonna make you pay the price!
Don’t roll the dice, or you’ll be mice
‘cause you’re walking on thin ice!
Run away, don’t you stay
and you’ll live to see another day!

(sung by a dancing imp, with red eyes & a loud, obnoxious voice)