More teenage poetry
In 1983 and 1984 I'm in a shithole called Weston Creek High School, and mostly writing clunky poems and songs about conformity. I snuck this one, anonymously, into the school journal:
Sign against
Always the thin end of the wedge
For me, you must think I'm a veg
Etable or something. But. I. Don't. Care.
What you think of my hair
Or my face or my clothes
Because none of you know
Me underneath me!
So I am free -
To be alone and to hedge
Myself in. Always the
Thin
End of the wedge
For me!
There are also signs of an emerging personal system of symbols, including (oh dear, oh dear) a goddess of aggression, The Weasel.
Nivalis
Have you ever in your dark dreams wondered why
Why the weasel wild and wicked red as blood
Dances for the little rabbit in the snow?
Dances for the rabbit, do you want to know?
Have you ever in your dark sleep seen the light
Of the weasel red and glowing in her fight?
Of the laughing beast who watches in the night?
Of the laughing beast oh have you seen the light?
(Years before I'd read that a weasel will confuse its prey with dance-like motions.)
There are also fannish poems. About Snakedance. And The Time Monster. And you can't see 'em.
Sign against
Always the thin end of the wedge
For me, you must think I'm a veg
Etable or something. But. I. Don't. Care.
What you think of my hair
Or my face or my clothes
Because none of you know
Me underneath me!
So I am free -
To be alone and to hedge
Myself in. Always the
Thin
End of the wedge
For me!
There are also signs of an emerging personal system of symbols, including (oh dear, oh dear) a goddess of aggression, The Weasel.
Nivalis
Have you ever in your dark dreams wondered why
Why the weasel wild and wicked red as blood
Dances for the little rabbit in the snow?
Dances for the rabbit, do you want to know?
Have you ever in your dark sleep seen the light
Of the weasel red and glowing in her fight?
Of the laughing beast who watches in the night?
Of the laughing beast oh have you seen the light?
(Years before I'd read that a weasel will confuse its prey with dance-like motions.)
There are also fannish poems. About Snakedance. And The Time Monster. And you can't see 'em.