Far As I Know, My First Published Pieces

A friend of mine shared these poems pictured from back in my school days. I don't remember writing them. I don't remember what the poems were supposed to be about, what the prompts were, or what was going on. They are truly terrible, and I offer no apology for subjecting you to them. Bask in all the glory of edgy teenage angst!

After I was done admiring how truly terrible at everything at I am, and anxiously awaiting a time when I will have a chance to look back on today and realize how awful I continued to be throughout my entire life, I got to thinking more seriously about whether or not I've grown as a writer. Whether or not I've gotten any better at anything, or if I continue to be the same twit who wrote the pithy words above.

Then I thought to myself: "You know? What if I were to write about these themes today?" So I've decided to rework these poems. Rewrite them in a way that is "These are the same poems, but better." I think it's called "editing"? But I could not, for the life of me, remember what I was actually going for in any of these. So technically, these are also new poems and I went a little buckwild in some cases. I don't know if the structure was important, or the titles, or the rhyme scheme. So I essentially went "Let's keep as much of what seems important intact as possible without sacrificing quality in the name of something I don't understand in the first place".

Which makes this an interesting time capsule of sorts. This time around, I'm writing some context for what I'm doing. Giving myself notes, if I ever revisit these poems in the future and feel like I can further yet improve them.

Anyway, without further ado... I present to you these poem revisions:

“Ray’s Big Day”

Ray soared through the blue sky on a Sunday,

His fun-day of adventure and delight.

With nerves of steel,

He went skydiving,

To embrace the heavens in full flight.

But fate, it seems, had other plans.

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His parachute,

a tragic blunder.

Now Ray lies quiet,

beneath the sands,

A mile down,

lost in thunder.

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“Our Dear Elizabeth”

Nations rise and rally in a clash of swords,

And in the chaos, stands Elizabeth,

A soul carved by the cruel claws of war,

Death echos o'er hallowed shore.

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Once, a family of warmth and laughter,

Now torn asunder by history's relentless stride.

Parents vanished in storm and fury,

Brother's courage silenced by the cannon's roar.

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Elizabeth, a sentinel of endurance,

Clings to fragile relics of memory,

Their smiles imprinted on her heart,

A portrait of love against the canvas of sorrow.

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As the sun wanes and shadows lengthen,

She walks through corridors of emptiness,

Each footfall an echo of her family's presence,

Each echo a tear in the curtain of her soul.

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Time unravels its cruel tapestry,

Weaving threads of grief and solitude.

Elizabeth's resolute demeanor,

A mask concealing battles within.

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Amidst the ravages of relentless conflict,

She stands tall, her heart a leaden weight,

A mosaic of sorrow etched on her visage,

A haunting pallor,

A face etched in time.

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"Books of John"

Living as he walked,

He wandered lost,

No plan, no guide, no path of chalk.

Calculating schemes,

With artful guise,

Embezzling cents with cunning eyes.

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Within his ledgers,

Falsehoods grew,

A margin full of lies he drew.

But as death's shadow closer creeps,

Reckoning’s day from footnote peeps.

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New day dawns,

The truth unfolds,

A tale of deeds,

Unjust, untold.

Memory and Thought,

As ravens soar,

Books of John closed evermore.