If you haven’t noticed, i am going through old stuff, trying to clean up my files. Of course, i will never achieve that goal, but it’s fun to work at it, and what else do i have to do that is productive. This was written back home, i’m guessing for Thanksgiving, referring to the drear of a basement dorm room in Nashville. i still like it.

the sun is shining outside, but it is cold;
the sky is blue outside, but the trees are bare;
the wind whispers softly, but its coldness bites into the skin;
the windows reflect the sparkling sunshine, but the glare hurts the eyes.

i walked to the top of the hill and looked down on the lights of the city,
hoping to remember something beautiful and warm,
but the memories brought sadness
because they were of the past instead of the present;

a tear came to my eye, and the wind made the tear cold.
i was alone; the fact burned my heart as it chilled my soul;
i watched with sad amusement as two squirrels
in the lone tree on the hill chattered to one another;

i walked down the hill back to my lonely room,
four walls, bare lights, blaring radio, books, un-emptied ashtrays.

the sun is shining outside but it is cold;
the sky is blue outside, but the trees are bare;
the wind whispers softly but its coldness bites into the skin;
the windows reflect the sparkling sunshine;
but the glare hurts the eyes,

and all is calm

but yet…

i wrote this in 1962, right after i received a letter that revealed my relationship with a beautiful young woman from Cleveland, Ohio, whom i had met while she was visiting relatives in Lebanon, Tennessee, was over. Her name was Gay. i find it interesting that i used a ship at sea to describe my feelings. i did not go to sea on a ship until the next summer.

i stood on the old bridge,
leaning forward against the rail,
a tear traced its lonely way
down my cheek;
the wind whisked the tear away;
the pebble i dropped into
the deep water below
shattered the moonlight
into a thousand pieces of ripples;

i remembered;
another tear began its futile journey
against the wind

i remembered her:
soft lips, soft like the moon’s shattered reflection,
tender touch, tender as the wind carrying tears away;
gone
but
she would be back;
after all she had promised;
everything was quiet;
i waited.

Note: she never came back.