Bard Marc Gunn --Celtic Folk Singer-Songwriter
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A Bard's Real World Blog
Journal, Blog, News, and Diary

Welcome to my online journal and diary where I track my life and keep you up-to-date about my latest doings, pictures, music, poetry and more.


Had a very nice weekend at TRF. As much as I miss my Ex-fiancee (aka Bella (pronounced beya), as in Bella's Highland Jig, and other inspired songs), I am pleased with how much more I'm writing these days. On our drive out to TRF, I wrote two or three poems. And one song. Wrote another and the wee hours of Sunday morning after we got back from the Clan Gunn Ceilidh in Salado.

I miss writing. And I feel a lot has rubbed off from my relationship. I never felt really confident about writing poems before. Songs always seem different. But poems... Never really enjoyed it so much.

Probably stems from my senior high school teacher. The S.O.B. sat there criticizing my poetry from his narrow-minded perspective on life. Fortunately, though I took a creative writing class in the 11th grade and, man, that was great. I learned a lot about styles of poetry. I think that was the first time I ever felt comfortable writing poetry. But it's not until now that I actually am cool with sharing my poetry. So here's a new one. I haven't looked over it. Those seem the most honest to me...

Bella is an incredible poet and introduced me to some of the beatnic poets. While they didn't totally blow me away stylistically, it did inspire me enough that I felt like writing this semi-beatnic style poem. It was written in the dark drive to Friday night on the way to TRF. I was pretty much just rambling off thoughts.

Lights whip by
Lights whip by
Cars and stars
Like broken jars.

Nothing but blackness
I can barely write
But to fight
To fight, to fight.

Explosion of a thousand
Galaxies and all
I see is me and
A broken key.

Tear down the doors
Tear open my heart
Carry it away in a cart.

Man, I feel the beat.
I long for womanly heat
To be my seat
To caress my feet.

I can almost hear drums
And a melody like Tums
And smell the Mums
Littering the ground like crumbs.

Am I delerious
Or just dextrous
I'll vext us
Here in Texas.

But the mind won't rest
Until I see you undressed
Lying on my chest
My chest, my chest.


Posted by Marc Gunn on Monday, November 11, 2002 | link to it



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