Journals in Stanza Form

the story of notebooks sacrificed

I have filled hundreds of notebook pages with bad to mediocre poetry. I am not a “poet” — I simply keep my journals in a loosely poetic form. Not that I do not aspire to be a poet, but my skills fail me. These journals are not online at this time, but they might return once I have them in a format that is more artistic and true to their contents. Someday, I might again distribute the journals. Several years ago I had prepared them as small books, which I sold at poetry readings. These books are out there. I imagine each in a role: collecting dust, sitting in a landfill, or sitting under the shortest leg of a table.

I destroyed some of my original journals and notes in January 2002, during a rough period of life. I regret the decision in some ways, but still think it was for the best. There are events and people best forgotten. Of course, even those journals that do survive are not void of pain or confusion.

There are more than 1500 entries in my poetry journals. The journals fill most of a copier paper box… which is stored away under various items in our basement.

I began writing poetry primarily because there were poetry competitions for students in elementary school and junior high. I will never deny my extremely competitive nature. It was during junior high school I found myself writing poems and short works of prose during class, at night when I should have been doing math homework, and even in the car on family trips.

While in high school, I realized I had been keeping a journal. Those who know me well might even be able to track the events in my life against the poems.

There are a handful of people, for whom I will always care, who could probably find things in the poems I did not know I hid among the words. My habit of embedding codes, words, and phrases is nothing compared to the hidden meanings of the most direct poems.

I seldom attempt to stay true to rhyme or meter. I write spontaneously and do not edit, revise, rewrite, or in any other manner “fix” an initial thought. When I have written poetry as part of an assignment, I care more about what the words say to me than if another person can find the meter and classify the style.

The works here most likely contain many errors. Please let me know where errors exist so I can make corrections. Editing is a never-ending process.