A bunch of poems I deleted but then changed my mind

A Poem by Firestone Feinberg

I deleted most of these poems after posting them -- don't go there -- and then changed my mind. Maybe some of them I never even posted. At any rate, if you want to read them they're here. Thanks

b"h

7/20/13

A forest it is -- this writers' cafe -- for

Trees grow here -- and it is a wild place.

But there are some passable paths

That lead us through this otherwise

Treacherous terrain -- so that our selves aren't

Altogether swallowed up by it. And there are

Also birds and lizards here who tell of a

Futile future, but nobody listens to

Them anyway. And anyway, the wisdom of

Birds and lizards is far beyond our understanding...

So we stand under trees for protection from

The sun and the rain. And, if we could

Remember how thousands of years ago we

Climbed trees, then we could climb a tree to

Escape an escaped beast or two... For these

Do crowd the forest, ready to devour anything that

Is more or less human. And so we go on, walking the

Passable paths -- writing and reading -- yet afraid.

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b"h

8/9/13

Everyone lies. They lie to themselves and

They lie to others and they do lots of

Other lousy things. But that's just the

Way it is. I mean if you ask a person to

Tell you the truth it doesn't mean a

Thing. That's obvious I guess. But anyhow

Like I said everybody lies. Even I lie and

So do you and if you say you don't then

You are definitely lying. So you just have

To face the fact that you never know if

Someone is telling you the truth or not.

For instance if I tell you that I am six

Feet tall -- like I say it in a letter or

Something -- you would probably think

I'm six feet tall. But I'm not. I am only

Five feet and three and a half inches

Tall and that's the truth I mean why

Would a guy ever lie about his height.

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b"h

7/17/13

I didn't weep over Zion when I walked

By the waters of the great creek that

Flowed from the great falls in the small town

Where we lived while I was growing up.

Instead, in my early teens, I smoked

Cigarette after cigarette there -- desperate

To inhale the cigarette smoke and not the

Fresh air that flowed through that place which

Was a sanctuary to me then. There were these

Huge boulders there, so big that I could walk

On them. I guess that they were deposited there

During one Ice Age or another. It didn't really

Matter how they got there. It only mattered that

They got there -- and that I got there every day after

School, after my mother died... but not to weep over

Her... just to smoke and smoke until I smoked

About a half a pack of non-filtered cigarettes.

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b"h

8/9/13

So there are intellectuals around and I don't

Know if they really know something or if

They just act like they know something I mean

Somethings really because they don't just know

One thing. Like they know what all these

Famous smart guys said like whenever you

Say things that are brilliant or whatever. I

Always wonder WHEN they said all these

Brilliant things like was it in the morning or

What. And also I wonder who they said all

These brilliant things to like was it their

Cousin or like their aunt or someone they

Never even met before. You know what?

Sometimes I am suspicious that they say

All these brilliant things in order to think

That they are really okay but deep down

Inside them if you know what I mean they

Don't feel okay but that's okay I mean who does?

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b"h

aug 10 2013

Sometimes I have these real bad dreams. Well

Okay not sometimes but a lot of the time like

Sometimes I have them every night for less than

A week or so. So I haven't had one for a few

Days. But now it's two o'clock in the morning and

I just woke up from one of these terrible dreams. I

Wont even tell you what they're about because

It really doesn't matter to you if you're a strange

Person just reading this -- I mean you're not

Really strange in that way but you're strange because

I don't know you or anything. Or maybe I do know

You but it doesn't really matter. All that matters is

That if you have these awful dreams too then you

Know what I'm talking about. I mean you can relate

To it and you know where I'm coming from like they

Say... And right now I'm coming from this terrible

Dream and it's two o'clock in the morning and I

Can't go back to sleep -- that is -- I won't even try.

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b'"h

8/12/13

Every morning I have a cup of coffee and

I put on tefillin and daven a little bit like I

Say the Sh'ma and some prayers in English

And then, if I don't have to go out or

Anything that day, then I just lie in bed and

Play Scrabble on my iPad and write some

Emails and check my poetry-sites to see

What's happening there. And usually I am

Reading a book -- these days I read mostly

Mysteries -- so I sort of alternate between

Playing Scrabble and reading and checking my

Poetry sites -- well they're not MY sites, they're

Sites that I post my poems on. And these days I

Often write a poem too -- like I am writing this

One right now -- or maybe I should say that

This poem is writing me. I just get out of the

Way and the poems sort of unwinds and I count

To see if I have eighteen lines and if so it's done.

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b"h

12 aug 2013

It's no fun when you have to struggle to write I

Mean what's the point in trying so hard to be

Heard and anyhow who wants to read or listen

To the struggling of some wannabe-poet who

Really has no idea even what poetry is if it even

Is something. I mean it was something once a

Long time ago but then it got lost and no one

Could find it anymore but some people said they

Heard it crying like in the desert somewhere but

I don't know anything about that because I thought

That poetry still was. Well that was when I was a

Kid and I read all this great old poetry because this

Friend of mine in camp had this book with all these

Great poems in it and I read them and they sort of

Got glued in my mind. You know what I mean like

Poems by Emily and Edna and Robert and e.e. and

Lewis Carroll and even Ogden Nash and God so many

Others who didn't struggle. So maybe I don't have to.

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b"h

aug 12 2013

Then it seems a simple thing to be yourself. All

You have to is undo all the knots you've been

Tied into plus all the knots you've tied yourself

Into and then all of a sudden you're free and

You can be who you are. Like take me for an

Example. Here I am TRYING to write poems that

I think people will like and they do like them -- I've

Been trying to write POETRY for about five years or

So. Anyhow all along I knew that I could be like

This and just say things the way they seem to me but

Then I think TOO SIMPLE NOT GOOD ENOUGH for

Whoever to read. Well I just almost slipped by realizing

It should be WHOMEVER and I thought -- should I change

It to be whomever so that I wouldn't sound like a dope but

Then I realized that that's just what I'm talking about. Like

I would have said whoever and so I didn't change it and

You know I feel like I just won a war or something. Not

That a war is good... But I said it -- so too bad on me.

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b"h

8/12/13

When something comes easily to you, you

Might discount it. Like writing poems this

Way comes so easily to me and that's one

Of the reasons I sometimes think it's

Lousy. There are other reasons too, like, for

Instance I sort of sound like a kid when

I write this kind of poem, and, well, I'm

Sixty-two, so it's peculiar, to say the

Least, to be talking like a kid. But what

Am I supposed to do -- like just give up

What is easy for me because I think it's

No good because it comes so easily and

Also I sound like a kid and I'm not one, so

I feel kind of phony or something. I

Mean am I supposed to just not write

This stuff or write it and throw it in

The garbage. Well I guess they would

Say 'recycle' it. But you know what I mean.

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b"h

13 aug 2013

I have a picture in my mind. It's an old

Picture and it's of a place I haven't seen

In almost fifty years. The place is the

Very small town where I grew up. I

Won't tell you the name of the town

Because I don't want to because well

Just use your imagination and you can

Guess some of the reasons. Anyhow

The picture is like an old photograph --

Maybe an eight-by-ten and it's in black

And white and it has some cracks in it

and anyhow it's really a lot of pictures --

My grandfather was a photographer -- so

Anyhow all these pictures of the past

Just hurt to look at. So I try not to look

at them, but that doesn't work because

They're still here in my mind like I told

You... So -- anyhow -- this poem is over.

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b"h

13 Aug 2013

Well it's the middle of the night again and

I'm awake again and I can't get back to

Sleep -- again -- so I'm writing a lousy

Poem again. My personality is something

Of a potato -- a baked one -- or maybe

Anything that can splat on the sidewalk

When it goes out the window. My sister

Did that about twenty-three years ago;

I tell ya. Ya want life to be a grape -- a

Perfect thing that you can say a special

Blessing over, but it keeps turning out like

Well I'm not gonna say it but you know

What I mean and anyhow what's the

Difference if you complain or not I mean

Nobody's gonna stop and hold you if

You cry. The baby is gone. You're a big

Old thing and that's that. I wish I could

Say something to cheer you up but I can't.

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b"h

15 Aug 2013

Please do not read this lousy poem unless you

Have nothing better to do. Look, I can understand

That because I don't have anything better to do

Than write it. If you got this far, you can still

Change your mind and leave here in a second or

Less. I mean it is not really my intent to bore you

To death or anything. I just have this need to

Express myself or whatever, and if you're still

Here then you are the victim of fraud. I mean

I'm not really saying anything here at all. I'm

Just talking about not saying anything which

Might be fun for me if you know what I mean but

It might just be a total bore for you. Well if you're

Still here I should try to think of something wise or

Brilliant to say... like something about how great

Trees are or some astute observations about how

People are or something really interesting about

Love or the planets or something. But I can't.

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b"h

16 aug 2013

The thing is you do get tired and you

Wonder about lots of things like if you

Have the strength and the desire to

Keep on doing whatever you do and then

You say to yourself oh come now stop

Acting like you're the only kid on the

Block if you know what I mean I mean

Sometimes you just have to force

Yourself to get out of bed and do

Something like play the piano or go

For a walk or if you have the money go

And buy yourself something. But I

Really don't have to tell you what

It's like I mean who hasn't felt like

Dropping dead once in a while and you

Know what I think is that everyone has

The right to feel crummy and you have

The right to feel sorry for yourself too.

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b"h

16 Aug 2013

Well now it's the middle of August and the

Children -- poor things -- will soon have

To go back to prison I mean school and it

Will become September again and it will

Soon be getting cooler and cooler outside and

Thank God summer will be over -- I forget

What date that's on but I think it's like

The twenty-first or something and maybe it's

Not poetically-proper to say but basically I'm

Sick of poems about the seasons and that's

The truth I mean how many poems does anyone

Want to read about the lousy seasons I mean

What really is the difference what the hell

Season it is. Human beings are the same no

Matter what. I mean they don't change or

Anything with the weather but I'm not going

To get into that because I'll start saying

Things like how selfish they are and so on.

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b"h

16 aug 2013

When you think you sometimes think too

Much. I mean it's good to think and all but

You can overdo it and then you're like what

Am I thinking about or let's say you start

Out thinking about something and before you

Know it you're thinking about something else and

Then you start feeling stuff and at least for

Me I usually feel pretty lousy because I end

Up thinking about stuff that happened long

Ago I mean way before I had a family of my

Own I mean I think back to my lousy childhood

And all and then it's like I get stuck there

With all these lousy feelings... but anyhow

It's really another day now I mean it's been

Years since all that stuff happened so I keep on

Telling myself like it's NOW now and not THEN but

To tell you the truth all this talking to myself

Doesn't do much good. But if the phone rings...

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b"h

6 sept 2013

Intellectualization is a classic

Defense mechanism. Like all the

Others, it serves -- unconsciously --

To protect the personality from the

Threat of conflict, anxiety, anger,

And so on. Such flight is not simply

Sublimation, since it is often tinged

With some degree of aggression. The

Original intruder is mostly derailed

By the intellectual shield. Yet some of

The venom leaks into the conscious mind

Which provokes a general projection

Process that commonly takes the form

Of arrogance. It's really kind of

Fucked up. The person is obnoxious.

He has a big stick up his a*s, and if

You call him on it, he'll tell what

Some famous jerk said at lunch in 1883.

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b"h

29 Aug 2013

Just when you think you understand

It -- life does something new that

Doesn't fit in with what you expected.

And that tells the very thing of it --

It cannot be understood. Of course

It's the same way with God. Okay I

Hear you sighing and I see you rolling

Your eyes -- and that's supposed to

Stop me from going on about God.

And part of me just wants to stop since

I just feel like I am talking but you're

Not listening. And part of me wants to

Continue saying what I was saying about

God no matter what you think of me. And

That's the answer of course -- to just say

That God Is and it doesn't matter if you

Believe in Him or not. It only matters

If He believes in you -- and who knows?

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b"h
8/8/13

Yes -- Sylvie -- you're right. I do sometimes
Write just what I'm thinking when I'm
Thinking it. Like now I thought: well what
Am I thinking about and suddenly I was
Thinking about balloons. But I just stopped
Thinking about balloons and started to wonder
What line I'm on because I want to have two
Sets of nine lines each so that the whole thing
Is a total of eighteen lines. I want eighteen

Lines because first of all I don't want to
Write a sonnet because I keep trying to be
Original if you know what I mean. But I keep
Sort of avoiding the Jewish part... it's like this
Old shame-thing about being Jewish I mean
It's always like being a stranger... or something.
Anyhow, in Hebrew the number eighteen
Stands for 'life' so I chose eighteen mainly for
That reason... Well now my line is up so bye.

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My Review

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Reviews

bobc

D...I'm so glad you didn't delete these. (BTW...some of them were published here. I remember them.)

I've told you before that this flow of words out of you is a good thing...I find it charming, in fact, and I don't mean that in a condescending way. Writing is a process for each of us and, at this point for you, I thought it's become a way of just letting go a little...letting a voice in you be heard.

Writing in this way...and we've all done the 'stream of consciousness thing...I've compared to miners panning for gold. They will go through tons of dirt and hundreds of gallons of water to find one little sparkling flake of precious metal in their pans.

I'd suggest mining this collection for those little nuggets and don't worry if some poems don't seem to have any...for the moment, just move on to the next poem.

Never know what you'll find. Keep at it...bobc