The Burning Heart: Poems of My Youth 1

The beautiful image above shows a heart beginning to emerge. Their is a fire within it. Like this image, my early poems evolved due to the fire that burned from within. Even though I was young, there were many emotions for many reasons that needed to be expressed. My early poems were youthful, simple and unrefined. They did, however, form the foundation, direction and shape for my later poems. 

I began writing poetry when I was thirteen years old. I wrote poems for my mother (for recognition and feedback/who also wrote poems for me) and, often about the things that impressed me including the young ladies who touched my heart at this young age. These poems were reflective of my age, my time and my simple ability to express my feelings. They were, indeed, simple, yet heartfelt. They were pretty good a young kid living in a tough world yet they were not very polished or sophisticated. Please see them and feel them through the eyes and heart of a young man who enjoyed sports more than anything else. See and feel them through my mother who inspired me at many levels. Probably because of her influence in my life, my closest friends were females (and they were another source of positive feminine energy and influence during my formative years) . This was really important because these influences balanced my male and female in a way that other males do not normally experience. It was a gift!

It is ironic that I did not get very good grades in my English classes and that I was never challenged to write in these classes that seemed to emphasize sentence structure and diagramming sentences which was not fun and certainly did not encouraged freedom of expression. Come on teachers! 

Another strange thing was that girls liked to write and most boys (myself being an exception) hated to write. Boys were physical in their expression while girls were encouraged to express their emotions in creative ways. Recently, when I Goggled images for young writers, 80-90% of the pictures were girls. Of course, the nice thing for me is that the girls in my life have always appreciated my poems. At a young age I was unique: I was both a good athlete and a good poet... nice combination! Balanced masculine and feminine =  an androgynous being. Think about it. The world and everything in it would be a better place, a safer place and more creative place if all beings could honor their androgynous selves. Power is boy/girl power or girl/boy power but together we need to be! 


Anyway, the structure of these early poems is rough and rhyme oriented. They did, however, build my confidence as a young poet and, as mentioned above, formed the foundation for my later writings. Wow! 
I cannot believe that I saved them for all these years. I must have saved them to share them with YOU! 
I can remember each situation... for whom a poem was written and the circumstances which inspired the words. FYI, during this time, I was attending Palms Junior High and Hamilton High School in West Los Angeles. 

I have a number of other poems (20-30) that I need to find (in a drawer, a file, or a box) and share. 

The Early Years: 1954-1958 (Ages 13-17)

The Biography of A Jet

March, 1954 (13 years of age)

My name is the F80 Shooting Star

Our enemies fear me near and far

I am a fighter of the US Air Corp

When they tested me, they cried for more.

My engine is a single jet

And for speed I'm the fastest yet.

Often I've been clocked by the tower

Going more than 500 miles an hour.

My body has six guns in it's nose

To keep the enemy on it's toes.

Although my body weighs six tons,

I was one of the chosen ones

To fight in the Pacific and overseas

Where I did my best to please.

All together I'm fast, sleek and trim

And where ever I go I'm out to win.

I'm flown by those boys with stars in their eyes

With hearts of steel, who never say die.

So hear is to Peace, may I do my share

For the flag that stands over there.

The Patrol

April, 1955 (14 years old)

Up the hill the patrol did creep,

Slowly and silently the enemy they seek.

A flash of light came from the hill,

Another brave soldier died with a chill.

A volley of fire was the deadly reply,

Yet another soldier died with a cry.

The morning came, a perfect day,

Only to see more soldiers on the bay.

Toward yonder hills in the west,

Came yet another army, to endure the test.

The battle was over, the smell of smoke filled the air;

The green woodlands were left brown and bare.

Silently and slowly descended the foe;

The battle was over,

The war had been won.

My Carol

February, 1956 (14 years of age)

My Carol I love

More than the sun above

That shines and gives us the light

To live out our lives happy and right.

My Carol means more

Than all the other things I adore

And among them there are many

But without her, there wouldn't be any.

My Carol I need

More than a tree needs a seed

For without her like the tree

I would soon die and nothing there would be.

My Carol is in every way

The beginning and end of my everyday

And yes, it's true that most all the time

I spend thinking with her constantly upon my mind.

My Carol has done more

Than anything else before

To make me happy and realize

What a love is that never dies.

 

My Carol I respect

For I have gotten more than to expect

Of her warmth and all her tenderness

And all her love and what could I have done for all of this.

My Carol you can see

Means many things to me

And until that first day of never

I'll be loving her forever.

Wendy

May, 1956 (fifteen years old)

There once was a girl whom I knew

Who worried and worried,

And wondered what to do.

She worried and wondered all of the time

About three boys

Who were constantly upon her mind.

There was Dick, who caused worry and fret;

For he was the one she tried to forget.

There was Joel, who she knew but short;

But he was different, more of the common sort.

And last there was Ed,

Whom I hear it has been said

Was bored with girls, most all of the time.

This left Wendy with worry upon her mind.

But as I look far ahead,

Into the future, I hear it has been said,

She will live a life of happiness I'm sure;

For she can live a life of love to last and endure.

You

May, 1956 (fifteen years of age)

You mean more to me than all my dreams come true;

More to me than the sky of blue.

You are sweeter than the sweetest thing;

More wonderful than a diamond ring.

You are all I could ever want;

All that I could ever dream for.

You are all of this and so much more;

You mean so much to me, you could never know

How my love will always grow and grow.

But now there are several thoughts upon my mind;

One is how wonderful you are and so truly kind;

Another, I'm wondering if you love me?

I'm wondering what the answer will be;

And if you do not, I'll only have one thing to say;

I will always love you to eternity and a day!

Stacy At the Helm

September, 1956 (15 years old)

Note: This poem, of course, was inspired by Casey At the Bat

It was a sunny afternoon in Gloomyville that day;

Nearly a sell out crowd was on hand,

As Gloomy U., the underdog that day,

Met the mighty Mudville band.

As Gloomy U. took the field, a mighty roar was heard;

As Mudville ran on, there wasn't a word.

The Gloomy eleven was a sad looking team;

They hadn't won a game and barely scored a point.

It was Mudville who'd win it seemed.

They'd knock poor Gloomy all over the joint.

As the whistle sounded, the game had begun;

The kick it soared down to the one.

There it was taken by a Gloomy player,

He ran it back to the twenty without a care.

And then as if hit by the whole Mudville eleven,

He fumbled, and soon after, Mudville had seven.

As the game progressed, so did the score,

And when the half ended with the sound of the gun,

It was Mudville fifty to poor Gloomy's none.

During the half, the coach of Gloomy U. said,

"Either we win or the name of Gloomy U. is dead."

As the boys from Gloomy took the field again,

They didn't get a cheer, they didn't have a friend.

The fans they laughed and said it's Mudville’s game,

However, as the whistle sounded, it wouldn't be the same.

Gloomy U. took the opening kickoff and marched all the way.

It was Gloomy's first seven and that wouldn't stay.

As they ran and passed all over the field,

Mudville was so surprised, they began to yield.

As the game drew nearer to a close

There was only thirty seconds left and the crowd was on their toes.

The score stood Mudville fifty to Gloomy's forty-nine.

And now Gloomy had the ball, was there enough time?

There was Harrington at half; James at full and third-string Casey at quarterback.

The play he called and the huddle they broke.

This was it, no time for a joke!

But what was this, Stacy had the ball.

It was Harrington who had any chance at all.

But Stacy kept on going right down the field,

And as the gun sounded and there was no more time,

It was Stacy, lowly Stacy, who had crossed the goal line.

The score it left mighty Mudville with fifty

And poor Gloomy U. with fifty-five!

Gloomy's name, Stacy had kept alive!

And somewhere in this favored land

The sun is sinking below the hills,

But in Gloomyville there are still shrieks and shrills.

And it will be Stacy who will be remembered through the years,

As the hero of Gloomy U. as the game with Mudville nears.

 My Dream of Life

March, 1957(sixteen years of age)

Down in a little valley,

In the foothills somewhere.

Where it is always green,

On a ranch, so beautifully rare.

Where the wild flowers are always in bloom

And the sky is always blue;

In a two story house with a white picket fence

And a little stream running through.

Where the wind in the dale

Blows free like a dove.

Yes, this is where I dream I could be

Just me and my love.

On a mountain so high

Surrounded by pines,

Overlooking a green valley below

Where a river turns and winds.

Sweet and clean is the air

And clear is the sky;

Where quiet prevails, except for nature

Surrounding everything near by.

And I in a cabin built of logs

With nothing at all to worry of

Yes, this is where I dream I could be

Just me and my love.

A sunny day,

A running brook

And a shady place

In a green covered nook;

Where a meadow lays

So wide and clear;

Where the trees seem to reach the sky;

With the voices of nature always near.

Where the air is crisp and wonderful

Beneath a blue sky above.

Yes, this is where I dream I could be

Just me and my love.

 

No Letter Tonight

July, 1957 (sixteen years of age)

No letter tonight,

No letter for me.

I hoped and I prayed,

But it just couldn't be.

No letter tonight,

No letter to read

Over and over as I often do,

When I receive a letter from you.

No letter tonight,

No letter from you.

When you don't write,

You make me so blue.

No letter tonight,

No letter for tears.

I hope you will write

To dim all my fears.

No letter tonight,

No letter to hold

When thinking of you

And the things I'm often told.

No letter tonight,

No letter to put

Near to my heart,

Which is called the central root.

No letter tonight,

No letter to fulfill

All my dreams of love,

Which are not easy to kill.

No letter tonight,

No letter to write.

Write me soon and I will

Write you the very next night.

Crashed in the Jungle

July, 1957(sixteen years of age)

I crashed in the jungle, about a week ago;

The natives they caught me, thought they'd have a show.

So they stuck me in some big black pot,

Started a fire and it began to get hot.

So just about then I thought it was time,

To be leaving this place far behind.

I ran to the jungle, I ran for my life,

And the natives they followed sporting hunting knifes.

So I kept on running until I hit the shore,

Where I started to swim, to look back no more.

The natives kept on coming in their boats and closing in.

They pulled along side and said, "Boy, you'd better get in".

They pulled me aboard and tied me tight;

You see, they were determined to have their dinner tonight.

They took me back, as if I owed them a debt;

Yes, the napkins were laid, the table was set.

I started to jump as they increased the fire,

You see, I knew, boiled human was their desire.

This was it! This was my doom;

Until someone shouted, "Dr. Livingstone, I presume".

So here I am, King of them all;

Just sitting back and having a ball!

Three Chances

August, 1957 (16 years of age)

All of my life I've lived the wrong way.

I lived for only myself, from day to day.

I've cheated, I've lied, most of me is bad;

Yet, somewhere there's good and I feel so sad.

I wish I could change, but I fear it's too late.

Just three chances are left, to change my fate.

They all may be miracles, they don't have to be.

For one is with a girl, one is with God and the last is me.

My first chance is weak, it isn't very strong;

Because the keeper is a girl who knows no wrong.

She's so much better than I could ever be;

Much too good for a guy like me.

Still, I feel for her, I don't feel the same.

My heart it leaps; my heart it bounds.

When I'm away it hardly pounds.

She's in my thoughts both night and day.

I think she cares, but I couldn't say.

I know if the chance ever came for her to love me true

I would live for her my whole like through.

But it wouldn't be fair to try to make her mine.

For I'm not worthy of a girl so fine.

A look into her eyes is a wonderful thing;

They tell me so much and make my heart sing.

She's captured my heart, I wish she knew;

But she's so much higher while I'm so blue.

She's all around great, yes in every way;

She's the only other one who say

Just a word and make my life change.

And with her, my first chance remains.

My second chance is the slightest of them all.

It rests with me and I'm so very small.

If I could make myself change, I know I would.

I just don't have the inspiration or else I could.

If God could send me a girl like the one I spoke of before,

She would be my inspiration to do so much more.

Inspire me more than anything on this big wide world

A girl such as her, nothing is worth.

Seventeen

June, 1958 (seventeen years of age)

Seventeen, can this be love,

At seventeen?

I know the thrill you bring,

How my heart can sing

When you smile at me.

Seventeen, to soon they say,

At seventeen.

How can my heart say no,

To this wondrous glow you bring to me.

These are tender years,

To sweet to surrender.

If love brings me a tear,

Then love is a pretender.

So cling to me, say I am your King

And you are my Queen;

That our love will always be

This sweet ecstasy

That lives at seventeen,

At seventeen!

Jimmy the Pirate

August, 1958 (seventeen years old)

Listen now my boys, listen and you will hear

The story about little Jimmy, the bravest buccaneer.

He sailed with the greatest pirates of them all;

He saw them fight and struggle and even die and fall.

He witnessed the greatest battles,

That one did ever see.

The swords they clashed and rattled,

And the cannons roared at sea.

Their ships were big as castles;

Their flag flew bold and brave

From their flag pole nestled.

The skull and crossbones waved.

They plundered all the ships that sailed over the blue;

And squandered the greatest treasures the world ever knew.

But few have seen the riches the pirates had secured,

For they rest upon the bottom, yet the stories still endure.

Now this story is about over for I hear a mother's call

And little Jimmy's eyes turn from the pictures on the wall.

You see it was all his imagination,

This story I have told.

But with Jimmy those pirates linger

Just as in those days of old.

She

August, 1957 (sixteen years of age)

She has big brown eyes;

She has short brown hair;

She is but five feet tall;

So cute, so fair.

She is as fair as the day,

Cuter than I could say.

She means so much to me

I surely hope she will see.

In her eyes there is a look so sure

To prove her to me her love will endure.

Her lips are to me like wine

That I love to kiss all of the time.

But now to my misery, she does not know

Any of this and how I really feel,

And how my love is real.

But I do not know how she feels,

I'm wondering if she cares or if she does not;

Or if she does a little or a lot;

But all in all she is wonderful

One of the greatest I've ever seen.

So cute, so fair

She is all but the air.