PoeticaL
cluttering the net since 2001

The End is Never as Eloquent (poem by someone else)

Monday, Oct. 07, 2002
The working title to my novel, "Infection". I have the entire storyline in my head. I told someone I truly trust today and he said it wasn't what he expected but he thinks its good. He encouraged me to pour my heart into my project and make it my entire life like giving birth to my future. He believes in me like no one else and that helps immensely. He gave me a speech about my fear yesterday and it has made all the difference in the world. Today was a good day because I broke the barrier to a demon hanging on my back. I started to jot down my character traits and ideas. Just to get it all straight in my head. I have a comic book style timeline drawn up and taped to my wall.

I went to the bookstore tonight to look up a few things about writing dialogue because that’s my biggest struggle. It’s like I start to write and all I come up with is “he said, she said, and then she said what he said they said you said and said said..” And it all sounds like shit. I am working on my descriptive writing skills as well.

Too many years of writing down “lists of verbs” and twisting words to make cool sentences. Not enough time spent writing stories. I’ve never written short stories. I hate those short story books that are all over the place. The only writers that I ever thought were worth the short story genre are Amie Bender with “The Girl in the Flammable Skirt” and “Out of the Girls Room and Into the Night" by Thisbe Nissen. I also think that Tod Goldberg’s short stories are brilliant. I can’t wait to see a short story book of his be published. I’ve just never been about that short story thing. I supposed I might just have to take a writing course based around them. In fact, I have a few writing classes highlighted. It’s time. Like my friend said, “too much talking about it, go do it.”

I added my nifty word counter tonight. Pretty cool stuff. Will come in handy later I think.

I cleaned out tons of stuff today in my house. Paperwork and I have a stack of bills to contend with. I bought a postcard and I’m sending that out. And I mailed out a $10.03 money order too…. Yeah I’m on top of things this weekend. I feel good about things tonight. No moaning walls.

I think my happiness might just come in the DOING.

This sicko was just talking to someone I know well…almost scary to think what sort of people are in this world. Check out her hobbies…

Tonight I read the below poem and it hit home. Someone I met a long time ago on a poetry forum wrote it. I went to visit his poetry site after a long absence and found it. It’s simple, beautiful and in my opinion what poetry is all about. He’s a brilliant writer.

The End is Never as Eloquent

Between you and I
There was this difference

I wanted you
But I didn’t need you

You needed me
But didn’t want me

After I had you
I needed you

Now I only need
Your happiness
At any cost

Go be you
And I’ll just go somewhere
Maybe Green Bay
Or Cincinnati

Wherever it is…
I’ll be less eloquent

© 2001 by Night Hawke


I haven’t heard from him in ages, I wrote him the following email…

Nighthawke,

I can't even believe I am going to do this, because this is so cliche' and so not like me. But I feel compelled to, so here goes.

I just wanted to let you know that sometimes I think everyone wants to call themselves a poet. Sometimes I write nothing but junk words and I still say I'm a poet. But mostly there's just a ton of people giving themselves a title because they think its cool to do so.

I have read thousands of poems, read hundreds of books, and I always go right back to my belief that you have written some of the most amazing poetry I've ever had the pleasure of reading.

It saddens me that your website appears to have been abandoned or at least not updated recently from what I can gather from it. I hope that my words reach you and that you are still out there pounding away at the keys and are still a part of this world. It would just be nice to know that you are.

There are few writers that have affected my writing style at all. Few that did so in a kind way. You did that. I don't think that will ever stray from my memory. As humans, we tend to think that our small actions don't amount to much. Sometimes they may never come back at us in neon lights. But I hope something I said hits home for you. That was my only intention.

There's never been a time when I came back around to read your poetry that I wasn't touched by something that was a current universal truth for my own current planetary thoughts.

Tonight I read the following and I cried. You once wrote what tonight I didn't have the words for. There is nothing more beautiful in this world than when someone once strung words together like perfect stars in the sky so that later on another day, fate decided to make sure you saw it when you needed to.

I know I know, a bunch of stuff from a girl that you probably can't even remember... But that wasn't the message...

Tonight I felt this...so tonight I wanted to thank you. I hope that you are well...

PoeticaL

1:13 a.m. ::
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