2004: My Life In Poetry Form (Part 3) - Throwback Thursday

 

This is a recurring series featuring five poems all written within the same calendar year. They capture a sense of what my life and mind were like at a certain age and show the evolution of my life, mind, and writing style. We return to 2004. I was 26 years old. I had met one of the most important people and was in the midst of an important relationship in my life. It highly affected my writing.

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Raindrops

Staring out of my window, the raindrops changing shapes before my eyes.

I’d love to watch the sunrise, I’d love to see some blue skies, but I haven’t got past this rain-soaked window yet. Turning to my wall, headlights flash a tearful rain shadow. It could be the angels' tears for me; someday I will know. Sitting on the bed unmade, on the spot where last night I prayed. For a voice, a sign, a reason or rhyme, for some raindrops in my head to wash clean my mind. It’s silent in here now but for the rain, like pebbles tapping a prayer for me. Looking at the ceiling, through it up and away to where I know you are. The distance in miles and years doesn’t seem so far. I know you can hear my whispers through the falling stars. Staring out of my window, 

the rain rolling down reminds me of me. 

Soon those drops will dry, so in time, I hope, will mine.

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The Art of Losing

Tell me, my baby, where did you go?

I woke up this morning, and everything was gone.

It's so cold, the world is dark, without you in my arms.

Can I find you? Will you come back?

Everything is blue, 

from my eyes to the sky and every inch in between.

Inside I'm wasting away, crippled and broken-hearted; 

it could be my last day.

I'm tired from tears, weak from chasing answers, 

lost in all my fears.

Why can't I find you baby? You used to be everywhere.

There are no words I can say. Look into my heart, 

you'll find it all in there.

I love you so much it hurts, now the pain is all I have left of you.

If I could paint a picture of me without you, 

all I'd need is gray and blue.

Can you hear me calling you baby?

I went to bed last night, 

and your name was all the night could hear.

The sun rose black as coal, my mind is a winter storm, 

no one can find me.

Only you can save me from this lonely road I'm on.

You hold the sweetest verse to my most beautiful song.

I've lost my voice, I've only got one choice, to admit I was wrong.

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Under the Streetlight

Spinning slowly around.

Slow dancing with my baby under the streetlight shining down.

I can smell your sweet perfume when I close my eyes.

In my ear you sing a soft lullaby.

I could stay here forever, as long as we're together, I'll dance with you wherever, the streetlight is shining down.

Rest now, our dance floor is quiet.

Hold me tight and feel my heartbeat.

Never has my life felt this complete.

Here slow dancing with my baby on an empty street.

We don't know why, but here we are.

Weaving in and out of the headlights of passing cars.

Eye to eye and cheek to cheek, still a little too far.

No need to look up, I'm face to face with my own beautiful star.

I could stay here forever, and as long as we're together, I'll dance with you wherever the streetlights are shining down.

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Your Eyes

I’ve been thinking about you, all the time, and every day. Something you do to me makes it so I can’t turn away. I’ve been wondering could this thing so beautiful be true. It’s your eyes; I’m hypnotized. There’s magnificence I see in them exotic rains enhancing the flames. It’s your eyes. They’re shining peace through the storms. Those eyes and what they give, I want to see through them. I want to see how the world’s beauty looks, like the ocean waves melting away.

I’ve been seeing you, walking endlessly inside my mind. You’re just a daydream, but something remains. You’re playing me like a song I can’t stop. Should I turn this melody up? It’s ringing in my ears all night. Your voice keeps me hanging on, singing through the night until dawn. It’s your eyes. There’s a sensual mix of crazy and love. It’s your eyes. They’re the deep end of the ocean, they turn my stone to clay. Those eyes and how they make me feel, I want to see through them. I want to see how they separate you from the rest, how they capture hearts and minds.

All that is mystery is in your eyes. All that is heaven on earth, all that keeps me going. When I have no direction, it’s where I look. When I feel too cold to move, it’s where the warmth lies. They hold back the hurricane, but could bring the storm at any time. They hold back the river, but could flood my mind in a wink. They could break me, but they hold the strength to save this falling man. It’s your eyes, I’m speechless. It’s your eyes, it’s hopeless. It’s your eyes, nothing less. I want to see inside; I must confess. I want to see you through your eyes. I want to see me through your eyes.

I want to see through your eyes.

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1996 Changed Everything: Pt. 3 - The Message of the Music

This is going to be a series of articles about 1996, as it holds significance for me since it was the year I graduated high school. In this second article, I look at the music of the day and how it impacted my life then and still does today.

1996 in many ways, was a tale of two halves. The first half was all about me trying to finish strong as my senior year of high school drew to a close. The second half was a recalibration. The seemingly endless grind of school had ended. Sure, there was college on the horizon, but for all intents and purposes, that was voluntary.

What I didn’t know then but know all too well now is that when you go hard for a long time, you get calloused. Your body and brain get used to the grind. Once you take your foot off the gas, it’s hard to get the motor running again, or the motivation to do so.

Looking back, it makes the second half of 1996, mostly the fall into winter, a bit of a blind spot in my life. Senior year and all of the events surrounding graduation are seared into my brain thirty years later. That final summer on Cape Cod with my closest friends before they left for college is one of my most cherished memories of my life. Until the actual days they left to start new chapters in their lives, the reality of the situation didn’t set in.

In my world, 1996 still revolved around Grunge music, although now it was a post-Grunge Alternative music world. Long gone was Nirvana as Kurt Cobain had symbolically ended Grunge with his death in April 1994. That didn’t mean that Nirvana’s music wasn’t still a huge part of me and my identity.

The teenage angst that Kurt wrote about in his lyrics only grew stronger in me as the prospect of entering a new phase of life grew closer. My interest in lyric writing, more along the lines of poetry, began early in 1996. However, it was not a Nirvana song that inspired me to jot down my innermost thoughts and feelings. No, it was a real-life event that happened at my school.

As you read in my last article, my English teacher, one of the favorites I ever had, was fired from his job for allegedly soliciting a student to appear in an adult film he was producing. When inspiration strikes, sometimes it comes from the weirdest places.

To process the events surrounding our teacher, affectionately nicknamed Bubba, I bought a steno pad and got to writing. I can clearly remember sitting in my bedroom adorned with posters of musicians and sports heroes alongside my closest friend, Barry, and working on lyrics to a song about what was still a fluid situation at the time.

Music had always made me feel. I can remember listening to Queen’s song These Are the Days of Our Lives in 1991 and getting overwhelmed by its message of looking back on life as you age. I was 14 then and had music making me think and feel beyond my years.

Writing lyrics, or poetry, to certain music made me feel more like an artist. In the first half of 1996, the inspiration came from my Grunge and Alternative roots. Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Alice In Chains, Soundgarden, and others filled my brain.

It was an interesting contrast to try to write about teenage problems that were happening in the present while trying to sound like a weathered adult looking back. My initial year of writing poetry was a lot of simple, sometimes cringe-worthy, attempts at rhyming and explanations of life. College and the music I was exposed to would drastically improve my writing. Well, that and a surplus of new problems.

The music I tried to write to also served another purpose. It was a conduit for creative expression. A dream I had been trying to cultivate in the 1990s was that of being a filmmaker. I wanted to create worlds and share them. I spent around $800 of my savings in 1994 to purchase a bulky camcorder from Sears. That’s equal to just over $1,700 when adjusted for inflation to 2026.

That camcorder got used pretty much daily. By the time it kicked the bucket sometime in late 1997, I had recorded somewhere in the neighborhood of 65 hours of VHS tapes. There were skits, there were family holidays, and random, pointless moments that I captured that I cherish to this day.

The same model camcorder I owned in the 1990s

A major part of those VHS tapes is the music video. Simple, really, my friends and I set up my camcorder, played a song on a stereo, and performed it on camera. In today’s world, we’d call this low-hanging fruit for content. The videos all had a similar vibe. Teenage boys in the mid-1990s jamming out to songs they loved.

We did have our favorites. Nirvana ended up having nearly their entire catalog turned into music videos on my camcorder. It was a who’s who of Grunge, Alternative, and straight-up Rock music. Every now and then, we might switch it up and do something foolish to make ourselves laugh like Milli Vanilli, Color Me Badd, or the Brady Bunch theme. Of course, most of the videos are embarrassing to watch today, but we were kids, what do you want?

It’s a fascinating time capsule to look back at the week I graduated high school in early June 1996 and see what the music charts had to offer. Tha Crossroads by Bone Thugs-n-Harmony was #1. It was eerie as the song talks about losing a friend. Now, we were losing friends as we went our separate ways for college, not death, but still, it was fitting.

The rest of the Top 10 that week was populated by stalwarts like Mariah Carey, Celine Dion, Alanis Morissette, Toni Braxton, SWV, Metallica, and George Michael.

In general, music was trending away from the Grunge-Alt movement and into more polished pop, dance, boy bands, and that song they beat into the ground, ‘Macarena.’ That song debuted right around the time I graduated and dominated the airwaves for the next year or more. I even had to do that foolish dance when at my orientation on my first day of college.

After school ended, my main connection to music came on two fronts: my job and my girlfriend.

I worked as a prep cook at a local restaurant during high school. I was lucky to have a coworker who was a friend and more like a brother at times. We were the same age within a few days, and we had similar tastes in music. What I liked a lot about Liam was that we were just different enough that he might turn me on to a different band, and if he didn’t like something, he had good explanations and not just ‘it sucks.’

I made mixtapes (yes, tapes) called Prep Boys Rock that we would play while working. It was a lot of what I’ve already mentioned, except with maybe a little more REM. We played music loudly, sometimes to the detriment of our job, but again, we were teenagers, what would you expect? Here is a Spotify playlist of some of those classics from the mixtapes.


 

There was a time our music was so loud that we couldn’t hear someone calling to us to bring something to the kitchen. That didn’t go over well with the guy who was a crusty old 60-something who didn’t have time for us crazy GenX kids. He stormed into our prep room, literally tore the radio out of the wall, and took it. We acted worried, but as soon as he left, we made fun of him for the rest of the day, and honestly, still to this day.

It wasn’t all mixtapes. Sometimes we’d get tired of the same old, and we’d listen to the radio. Now we’ll get very specific to where I grew up on Cape Cod. We had some classic stations on the air in the mid-90s, like Rock 104.7 and Pixy 103 (both rock), 96.3 the Rose, and 106 WCOD (both Top 40). But Liam and I tended to choose the stations that felt like they were speaking to us, like Underground 93.5. It was the alternative we enjoyed with up-and-coming bands we might not have heard of yet.

The other connection to music in the back half of 1996 was my girlfriend at the time. I was trying to share my world with her, and the best way I could do that was by sharing the music that made me feel alive. I turned her on to some of the alternative that shaped me. I made her introduction to alternative music mixtapes. For a teenager who didn’t know how to express vulnerable emotions well, sharing music became a love language.

She was one of the select few in my life that I sang for. I always loved to sing, and think I inherited a pretty good voice from my Grampa, who was a jazz singer. So I would put on these concerts where I’d sing a song or two like I was some sort of celebrity. Again, it was a love language to share something so few saw, or in this case, heard.

I turned her on to Stone Temple Pilots, especially. She loved Scott Weiland. In fact, we ended up going to see them in concert later on November 30, 1996. This was only a handful of shows before Weiland got busted for drugs and was eventually thrown in jail, with the tour being canceled.

Concerts were the big new shiny thing for me in 1996. Getting to travel and see bands I loved perform live was something that blew my mind. The first concert I ever attended was AC/DC on March 19, 1996, at Boston’s FleetCenter. It changed my life.

I went with my friends Dan, Pete, and James (aka Butch). It was so liberating to be on our own despite still being in high school. There might have been a little smoke in the car, but for the most part, we were responsible.

My introduction to live music began with Beavis and Butthead on the big screen, segueing into Back In Black, shattering my eardrums. AC/DC was one of the loudest live bands, and I had the proof. For the next three days, it felt like I was wearing heavy earmuffs due to how that music had slapped my ears silly. To this day, I am surprised at how good my hearing still is. I hope I didn’t jinx myself.

I mentioned at the top of this blog that the second half of 1996 has become a bit of a blind spot in my life. I had been going nonstop with school, and as Senior Year wound down, I made a choice to not go away to college. I chose to stay behind and, after taking a semester off, begin my college journey at the local Cape Cod Community College. Why? Possibly burnout, stress, confusion, and the biggest reason, my girlfriend. I will get deeper into that part in the next blog, though.

It’s interesting for me to go back to that time. I know I lived those days, and yet nothing stands out. I believe part of the reason was that as soon as I stopped grinding at school, my mind collapsed in a heap. Not having to be in a constant state of readiness swung me in the opposite direction, and I became soft and lazy. Yes, I was working, but what else?

By the time September rolled around, the vast majority of my friends were gone to their next chapters of life, some never to return. I felt like I hit pause, and once I started up again, I had to try to run to catch up.

I graduated from high school and, within a year, was slam dunked into confusion and desperation about my place in the world. I wasn’t even 20 and was in the quarter-life crisis mode. To this day, I find one of my biggest regrets in life was not going away to college immediately. That stepping off the gas pedal made it easier for me to coast. I don’t think I quite realized that I had shot myself in the foot with my choice to pause my education to bask in the glow of couple’s life.

I look back at the songs that captured my state of mind as 1996 drew to a close. The confusing new releases from Pearl Jam (No Code), Weezer (Pinkerton), and REM (New Adventures In Hi-Fi) seemed to perfectly reflect my own state of mind. The party was ending, but I had only noticed the crowds leaving once my voice was the one left echoing across an empty room.

Music would ease my mind, and it would also influence my writing as I tried to put into words changes I didn’t fully understand. Life was changing faster than I was ready for. January 1996 saw me as a high school student getting ready for the real world. In December 1996, I was in the real world, standing at the starting line and watching it disappear onto the horizon, all while familiar bands played the soundtrack.

The seemingly infinite horizon can be liberating and terrifying all at once.

2003: My Life In Poetry Form (Part 3) - Throwback Thursday

 

This is a recurring series featuring five poems all written within the same calendar year. They capture a sense of what my life and mind were like at a certain age and show the evolution of my life, mind, and writing style. We return to 2003. I was 25 years old. This was a time featuring a lot of soul-searching and trying to figure out what my path in life was supposed to be.

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Garden Road

I want to send you flowers for Valentine’s Day. Chocolate kisses and sweet candies with the loving words they say. We listen to the band’s rhythm while I pour out my heart into a wine glass. I want to fly and paint clouds with your name in the summer sky. I want to deliver you any wish you desire, deliver you wings if you wanted to go higher. Give you a rope to lasso the shimmering moon, or a net to swipe pearls from the sea. Or the simple pleasure of a walk in the park and a passing of a kiss between you and me. I want time to sleep while we lay in the grass, so close only between us does our breath pass. The birds could change tunes for a while and sing a lullaby for our mind’s to slip into. As we walk that rose-lined garden road we can grow together while our feelings never grow old.

I want to see emotions swell as I wrap my love around your finger. I want to hold tight to that moment, and when I am lonely, linger in its everlasting beauty. I have no petty promises, no shiny double-edged sword. There is no tarnishing of this unity, just an exchange of vows to make our love sacred. Infinitely we dance, eternally sharing one heart, each day a new chapter for us will start. I want a piece of you in me, for you I’ll give my all because a piece is too small. I want time to sleep, it has no purpose now because the race is over. I want to find love, and with it peace and strength. I’ll be where ever you want to be. I want to send you flowers for any day, no meaning or reason, it doesn’t have to be a special occasion anyway. I want to be in your arms today and stretch it into forever. In your heart I want to stay, and in your thoughts to dance and play. I want to have a love, another place to call home. I won’t let you down if you let me in.

I simply want to be with you.

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Some Kind Of Magic

You must have some kind of magic girl. You changed my life the moment you stepped into it. I was sad and lonely, the world so dirty and cruel. Are you real, sometimes I can not tell. To me it all seems so good, a dream I could wake from at any moment. It’s plain to see, you’re all I wanted and more finally happening to me. I think too much, how this luck fell to me. The answer is so simple running so deep. If I could let you in my mind I would tell you of your powers, I should. I’ll give you my heart without hesitation, my very soul without reservation, a fair trade for this beauty you rain down on me. You may not believe it, I’d gladly give more to receive it. I may sound like a fool. You must be some kind of magic girl, cause you’ve made me a fool for you.

You’ve brought the rains to the desert heat.

Brought the color to the black landscape.

Reminded me why I kept waiting so long.

Gave me the real emotions to put in a song.

Taken away the fear and left me nervous.

Shown me that tomorrow still has promise.

Made a believer out of someone once secluded.

Shone a warm light into the darkness I created.

Brought a smile, stay for a while.

Looking into the prettiest eyes, I fall into them a while.

It’s almost funny how fast you changed my outlook.

I guess the first instant of the first moment was all it took.

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Three Words

I have to say the words I’ve been too afraid to say. The ones that keep me awake at night, and consume me everyday. I have to say the words that mean so much to me, but nothing to you if you don’t hear them. The words that can change emotions in a single breath, held in high regard above all the rest. I have to say the words, but I’ve forgotten how to speak them.

I have to ask a question, a response to the words I’ll say. One whose answer can clear a stormy sky, and finally light my way. I have to ask a question that may surprise you, may entice you, may stop you in your tracks. It’s the question that sends the heart bouncing around the body there’s no way to relax. I have to ask a question, but I don’t know how to listen to the answer.

I have a confession to make, clearing up my feelings and leaving no mistake. My heart is here yours for the taking. I am only a peasant to the queen no need for waiting. I have a confession maybe it’s not a surprise. If you ever looked upon me once and seen what’s in my eyes. They see no one but you in crowds or alone, and your beauty remains long after you’re gone. I have a confession but need not say the words.

I have to say the words I’ve been dying for so long to say. The ones that can’t wait an instant for the chance that you get away. I have to say the words that are so loosely used but not by my lips. They are sacred and powerful enough to change hearts and lives. The words that can bring light where nothing else survives. I have to say the words and never second guess. It’s a love there inside them, and it’s for you that I confess.

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With The Seasons

Summer’s ending, some hearts breaking, some now mending.

All eyes fill with tears, some cry in sadness, some tears of joy.

I felt the pain those broken feel.

I feel the happiness now where some had said I was numb.

All people have an empty space inside, some can fill it, some fall in it.

My hole was where my heart lay, surrounded by ice and padlocked shut.

She was just a name, words without a face,

but by breath one in her presence my heart saw daylight.

Winter’s coming, some rest easy, some lost in the cold.

Where I am may become frozen for a time, I will be the melting point,

feeling a warmth like no other.

I long for the sunrise, I can face the rain, if on the other side is where she is.

All people know love when they find it, even if none can define it.

I wrote the book on loss, what was and what could never be, 

somehow it is now.

She could have been another page, a drop in the bucket, still she stays.

Summer’s gone, it will be dark soon, 

clouds or stars my eyes are lit by a face.

All of us get lost, we need to discover who we are.

I was inside myself, she gave me reason to step out.

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2002: My Life In Poetry Form (Part 3) - Throwback Thursday

 

This is a weekly recurring series featuring five poems all written within the same calendar year. They capture a sense of what my life and mind were like at a certain age and show the evolution of my life, mind, and writing style. We return to 2002. I was 24 years old. The Quarter-Life Crisis was hitting hard and left me in a period of depression and reflection.

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Getting There And Passing By

Don’t ask me where I am going. Don’t ask me where I’ve been. I’m always between getting there and passing by, so I’m not sure where I am. Don’t think me unkind if the words don’t come out right. If I don’t have that much to say, I’ll break the wall and flood the beds someday. Don’t ask “Where are you going?” when I have no plans to move at all. Don’t speak over my breathing, it might be all the sound you get.

Don’t ask me what I want. Don’t ask me of all I wanted to be. My wishes are ripening on the branches, just waiting to be harvested. Don’t think me unworthy of all your secrets and promises. If you tell me slowly, I’ll understand. I’ll place the image in the front of my mind. Don’t ask “What do you want?” unless silence and confusion are what you wish. Don’t look through my eyes, or think through my mind, unless you’re ready to never come back.

Don’t ask me where I am going when I’m really nowhere at all. Don’t ask me where I’ve been when all I see is highway scenery whipping by my frightened eyes. If you feel betrayed by your own senses, you can feel what I’ve said. If you feel bought and sold with a body so old, you understand all the pain. If you have a map to everywhere but your roots have you chained, you can hear my words in your mind. Don’t ask me where I am going, unless everyone else stops moving. Don’t ask me where I’ve been, unless you’ve been living side by side in my life. Don’t ask me where I am going, unless you plan on taking me there.

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Of Heroes Lost

Sleep. Rest now, my friend. The hero has run out of miracles. No one was there to save him. Tell me why, then tell me again. Why do simple dreams have complicated ends? If I asked, would you let me feel your pain? If it’s not too much, I’ll wear your shoes for a while. For so long, I wished I could thank you, but the words are here too late.

Fly. Show us how important you are by going away. The hero who runs out of miracles is a hero no more. Nobody cares when you’re face down on the floor. Nobody cares when you can’t help them anymore. It’s the circle of life to be built and torn down again. Show me how, then show me again. How to make the seas part and the river’s bend. If I asked, would you let me be a pawn in your game? For so long, I wished I could see through your eyes, but the light has grown dark all around you.

Now my hero sleeps. All the gold he had was not the wealth he wanted. Sometimes I wish I could have let him see. Sometimes I wish we could’ve taken off for the sky and let himself be. A little piece of my life. My hero’s taken a little piece of my life since he’s gone. It’s a time now where a hero is hard to find. It’s a time when it’s hard to find. It’s so hard to find, well, whatever, nevermind...

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One True Thing

I don’t know what you want, 

I don’t know what you’re looking for.

I don’t know if you’ve had enough 

or if you want some more.

It’s been a while since I’ve asked you, 

guess it’s time I ask again.

Will you allow me to be there for you 

and love you until the end?

Questions are questions, always there for you to ask. If there’s an answer, search for it, I’ll try. The past is a shadow soon to fade in the day with a love that brings tears to your eyes. If you’re weak, I will carry you and never let go; if you’re tired, fall asleep in my arms. If you cry, I will hold you, and the things that I’ve told you will remain true every day. And I’ll sing you off into the night.

I don’t know what you need, I don’t know what’s in store.

I don’t know if the road is tough 

or if we’re drifting away from shore.

It’s been a while since I’ve asked you, 

guess it’s time I ask again.

Will you allow me to love you 

and hold you forever, my best friend?

Soon we will grow with so much more that we know, there’s time, if you ask, I will wait.

I won’t stand in the shadows if the sky starts to fall, if it tumbles, we’ll be sheltered from it all. If you’re cold, I will warm you; if you’re frightened, find safety in my arms. If you cry, I will hold you, and the things that I’ve told you will remain true every day. And I’ll stay with you until everything is all right.

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Sleepwalking

Sleepwalking through my day. Closed my eyes until all the thoughts went away. Sleepwalking through my night. So thirsty, but I can’t drink the wine. Sleepwalking through time. Days, minutes, hours, now a state of mind long forgotten. Sleepwalking through my life. It’s amazing how far you can go when you don’t know where you’re going. You just keep on walking.

Sleepwalking while I’m awake. Reaching into the darkness, trying to touch whatever’s there. Sleepwalking a long stretch of highway. Between dusk and sunset, my footsteps fall. Sleepwalking a thousand miles. A year feels like a day, a day feels like a dream I just can’t shake. You just keep on walking.

Sleepwalking through my day. Opened my eyes until the light burned the tears away. Sleepwalking through my night. So thirsty from drinking the wine. Sleepwalking through time. What does time mean anyway? Sleepwalking through my life. It’s amazing where you end up when you don’t know where you’re going.

You just keep on walking.

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1996 Changed Everything: Pt. 2 - The Real World Makes An Early Appearance

This is a series of articles about the year 1996. It holds significance because it was the year I graduated high school, and it is now thirty years ago. In this second article, I look back in great detail at an unexpected turn of events that changed my worldview much earlier than expected.

In high school, even at 17 or 18 in Senior Year, you are somewhat insulated from the ‘real world.’ You still have schoolwork to finish, and childhood isn't completely dead. Even as the days to graduation ticked away, I reveled in the relative normalcy of daily school life. I knew at some point I’d have to start making big life choices, but that day was still in the distance. Then the event happened. As I tell this story, many of you might find it too hard to believe that it was real, but it definitely was. I’ll just get started.

You ever have a favorite teacher get outed for doing something terrible? Having your view of someone you looked up to get shattered can have rippling effects throughout your life. My English teacher was one of my favorites I’d ever had. I took his class in both Sophomore and Senior years at Dennis-Yarmouth Regional High School.

He was one of the few teachers who actually had nicknames affectionately given to them by students. The English teacher was nicknamed Bubba. He was heavyset with curly hair and a thick curly beard. He had a jolly demeanor and felt like a classic 1970s Hippie now dealing with middle age in the 1990s.

Dennis-Yarmouth Regional High School

Looks and presence aside, what made him special was the way he taught English. The main difference was how he incorporated Pink Floyd’s music into our curriculum. I learned more about that band in class than anyone in my family who had grown up on their music could have taught me. It was quite fitting then that a Pink Floyd song was being played when the illusion of that teacher’s life came crashing down.

We were having, I guess, what could be considered a talent show in class. One student had brought his acoustic guitar and, in an appropriate nod to our teacher, had decided to play Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here. The song was interrupted by the head of the English Department popping her head into the class and beckoning the teacher outside.

Mere moments later, the teacher was walking to his car and waving to us as he drove out of the parking lot. What had happened? The story was wilder than anything we could have imagined.

Our beloved English teacher had been found to not only have been directing and sometimes starring in adult films, but he had also been accused of soliciting one of his students to be in one of the films.

A parent of a student at D-Y had found an adult film that Bubba had produced and brought it to the attention of the school district superintendent. Why the parent was going through the adult films is their business, but still not a squeaky clean person to be pointing fingers.

The fallout was swift and harsh. The story made national news. Our little school in the middle of Cape Cod became a hotbed of news vans and reporters. It was a scene out of a movie.

I will never forget arriving at school the next day and seeing the swath of people out in front. Reporters were stopping and asking any student who passed by if they had any knowledge of what Bubba was accused of. For most of us, we had no idea. We would learn in real time about his adult film secret life.

A problem for many of the news outlets was that the kids they spoke to about Bubba didn’t have anything but glowing interactions and stories of him. There were very few, if any, scandalous anecdotes to be found.

Me, I was interviewed by local news stations like WHDH Channel 7 in Boston and WJAR Channel 10 in Providence. There was also a crew from MTV who briefly chatted me up. Like I said, once they couldn’t find any dirt, they moved on. None of my interviews was even aired.

I was 18 years old and had spent my whole life in the relative cocoon that was Cape Cod. I had never been exposed to a national scandal. Part of me wanted to talk to everyone and try to get my face on the news. Part of me wanted to run home and hide until the worst was over.

In English class, the department head did her best to explain to us what had happened while also keeping many of the details hidden. It was stunning and confusing, but we thought maybe Bubba would return. I can’t fully remember how we spent those class periods. Part of me thinks we had some sort of study hall. Maybe others from my class can remind me.

He was officially fired on January 17th after being a teacher for 25 years. Bubba always denied soliciting a student, but admitted to appearing in eight adult films in the previous six months. He spent his off-time in that world.

The news crews grew smaller, but some remained. They updated the story and even interviewed a few of my classmates who had gone to see Bubba in a show of solidarity. The rest of the Senior Class would show their solidarity in a big way.

Many of us, myself included, staged a walkout the week of his firing. Those who had vehicles decorated them with signs, paint, and balloons. Others crafted large signs on poster board with words of support for Bubba. As for me, being that I was a student in photography class, I took up my first important assignment. I documented what we ended up calling a ‘parade’ in vivid black and white film.

The famed D-Y 'parade.'

We felt like we were making a difference. Or at least we were showing our disapproval in the only way we knew how. Maybe we were naive, highly likely. But in our minds, we had only seen the caring, fun, and engaging English teacher. We never saw someone who would betray the trust of a student by asking them to be in an adult film.

Let me say that being in the adult film world does not make you a bad person. That’s not what I mean. It’s the idea that as a teacher, you build a reputation on being someone your students can trust to have your best interests in mind. We were kids, 15-18 years old, living on Cape Cod, not in the big city. Even the most experienced of us had very limited knowledge outside of our bubble.

I was torn. Bubba was one of my favorite teachers I had ever had. He made me enjoy going to school. Still, I felt betrayed even though it had nothing to do with me personally. There were grainy and blurred images from those adult films being shown on the news, and it didn’t seem real. How could the man who taught me about Pink Floyd be the same one in those movies?

Obviously, despite my only referring to this teacher as Bubba, if you Google it, you will find all of the information in detail. You will find articles from local outlets and from big ones like the Chicago Tribune. You can seek those out if you wish. I also have heard the name of the student who accused him of solicitation. I would never share that information out of respect.

Bubba fought his firing for several years but ultimately never taught again, as far as I know. He remained visible around Cape Cod. I can remember seeing him in a supermarket years later and not knowing if I should approach him or not. Unfortunately, it became impossible to separate the teacher from the adult film creator.

As far as I know, Bubba is still alive today and still on Cape Cod. He is closing in on 80 years old and has now spent more time ostracized from the teaching world than he was a part of it. Crazy how the world works.

1996 began with the real world being dumped on my doorstep. It was the first event to force a perspective change in my life. Bubba’s fall from grace actually did some good for me. I needed a way to process what was going on. It came in the form of writing. I guess you’d call them song lyrics, but it amounted more to a stream of consciousness in the form of prose.

I sat and scribbled words in pencil on a steno pad, sitting in my bedroom with my good friend Barry. I called my first-ever poem ‘Bubba.’ I learned how to process life events in poetry form thanks to what happened with Bubba.

It is kind of fitting, isn’t it? Today, I’ve written hundreds of blogs, had ten books published, and spoken at countless events surrounding my writing. It all got its start thirty years ago with a single poem. I say ‘fitting’ because Bubba was a huge influence on my love of writing, creativity, and expression. His downfall led to my beginnings as a writer. I guess that was his lasting gift to me.

In 1996 the future stretched off into the horizon.

1996 Changed Everything: Pt. 1 - The Rise of the Internet

2001: My Life In Poetry Form(Part 3) - Throwback Thursday

 

This is a weekly recurring series featuring five poems all written within the same calendar year. They capture a sense of what my life and mind were like at a certain age and show the evolution of my life, mind, and writing style. We return to 2001. I was turning 23 years old. I had returned to Cape Cod to Las Vegas and was trying to process that chapter of my life.

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Element

For so long I thought life was over. That the only thing I had left was getting older. Now I can see the light, breaking through where the clouds once held me. I can see the light shining down into the dark shadows where I lived my life. Have you ever forgotten to stop the pain? Like a leaking faucet where the drain is clogged, eventually it will spill over. Would you forget love if it hurt you so? Could you see light through the heartache? Now I can see the light and I believe it’s here to stay.

My love is solid, crack it, but it will not break. My love is forever, I can’t imagine being without it. It’s always been there, I just couldn’t see, it’s everywhere around me. In my everyday, everything I do, it’s the love that remains true. You’re my angel for what you’ve shown, my savior for bringing me closer to myself. I love you for who you are. 

I love you for what you’ve given me.

Have you ever looked in the mirror so tired of what you see? How can you give love if you can’t find it in you? Do you wish for a well where love flows and runs through your fingers? Where is it supposed to be, this everywhere love? It’s the love that I’ve found, that I can never lose. It’s the love I have that always there. My everywhere love is the love inside of me.

You may not have the most beautiful love, you may not have the strongest. But it can be all the beauty and strength you need if you believe in it. When your life is beautiful then you’ll find it’s love that made it so.

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Miles From Twilight

Remember when we were young? So fresh in our minds it seems so long ago now. We thought we knew it all, who we were, where we were going, why we were here. All that was new has grown older, all the bright lights lost some luster. Now our everything feels much smaller, and we don’t fit the shoes we used to wear. The questions outnumber the answers, the clear messages are cluttered with hang-ups and wrong numbers. I’d give anything to feel that way again, surrounded by the future, surrounded by friends. Sometimes I feel surrounded by mirrors and I don’t want to look up. Time heals wounds by taking the memory, losing who we knew and forgetting who we used to be. I’m just a fragment of a young imagination, that piece still searching the night for a lingering sensation. The passion for life once ran like wine, my throat is dry and the river is gone. Even as our soul’s children become adults we can’t give in, every drop of youth we keep is another day in our lives. No matter what they say, the numbers don’t mean a thing, deep within no words can take away. We aren’t in the sunset, miles from twilight, this yellow colored road is not golden just long and winding. It’s in our minds and only we know for sure, numbers will pile up even if we think we’ve had enough. But if we fight maybe we can win. If we push hard enough we can reverse this aging world’s spin.

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Right Now

Who can say when the world will end? Who knows which tomorrow could be the last? Who can say when this life will end? Do we still believe there is a door to forever waiting? Do we still believe in a better place? Right now I feel alive inside. No matter how dark it gets, the sun will rise again. Right now I feel I’m coming back together. No matter how hard, nothing will tear me apart again.

Who wants to tell a child there’s no tomorrow? Who will save us from what we’ve become? Who is the maker, the one who chooses when this life ends? Do we still believe? I believe it all comes down to belief. Any minute it could rain a plague, our water could fill with the blood of anger’s rage. So many buttons, so many fingers, so many questions, so few answers.

I feel there’s a weight, or is it a hand pushing down? I feel like I should struggle, but I’m frozen by sight and sound. Our dreams are falling from the sky, our identity now craters of loss. But right now we feel alive inside. Like a thousand wild horses running across the countryside. Right now I feel we’ve come together, but if we’re pulled hard enough, will they tear us apart?

Who can say what the future holds? No eyes can see that far. Whose faith runs so deep that it’s drowned their heart? I believe we shall overcome. Right now is when we need each other most. Right now the colors have faded away. No matter how large the chasms built up before, we can bridge them by extending our hands. The beauty of love shall overcome the hate.

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When I Misplace Myself

I don’t feel like I’m here today, guess my mind stayed sleeping today. If you fall in I’ll just swim away, I have an unconditional apathy today. I can’t touch what I usually feel, I don’t grasp truth and I can’t sense real, a day’s intellect washed off by an ignorant year, I have honest wandering eyes today. I don’t wanna talk about it, there’s nothing I can say, to stop this raging emptiness at least not for today. My heart’s still in the right place, but beats under a cloak of disillusion, my fingertips so numb and cold, these eyes see the unchanged face.

I don’t feel so smart today, stupidity filling a naive mind you could say. I can’t reach out, but I can feel in, and reach right through to the back of my skin. I can’t express the feelings I have now, sort of here, sort of there, and nowhere in between. I’m watching life pass through a glass bottle’s walls. Where is it going, is it leaving me behind? I can’t say if I’ve let go, I think I’m still holding on. I can’t say if I can give it up, I think I’ve lost control. You speak, I can’t make out the sound, beg and cry for all my wasted time. I tell you that I’m all right, I don’t think you swallow my lies. My heart’s still in the right place, a bit more out of reach today. My memories so numb and cold, your eyes don’t see the same face. Someday under paint brushed skies with sunstroke eyes a crack in the armor will set me free, just wait and see. I can’t feel an end, could you pick up where my thoughts left off? I haven’t time to feel sorry, the monotony these feelings bring, like a skipping record, I need someone to move my arm, dust me off. Don’t cry for my desolation, I’m still holding on, just need to stay strong and wait for the break in the armor.

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2000: My Life In Poetry Form(Part 3) - Throwback Thursday

 

This is a weekly recurring series featuring five poems all written within the same calendar year. They capture a sense of what my life and mind were like at a certain age and show the evolution of my life, mind, and writing style. We are returning to 2000, a new century. I was deep in the Quarter-Life Crisis, turning 22 years old, and moving from Cape Cod to Las Vegas, looking for a new life.

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Almost Free

Feeling like a stranger, feeling like an outcast in my own home. The scenery, once so beautiful, now turns dark, gray, and cold. Looks like a place I know, but I sense that I don’t belong. Inside myself these visions collect, slowly I digest them and painfully it all makes sense. Nothing is the same though I haven’t changed. Seems everyone is moving on, everything is moving away and I don’t know how to make it come back. Thought they’d ask if I were scared, nothing was the sound, guess they’ve forgotten I’m here. Stopped for a moment in a room I once believed to be my own, the life I know is sealed and packed away, suppose they think I’m gone. Did I sell my soul by choosing this path, is this purgatory, have I committed an unforgivable sin? Setting free the expectations, letting go of my frustrations, opens doors to the dreams I have to live by. The price I pay for peeling myself off these walls is my not-so-subtle isolation, a banishment to rinse me from their minds. Do I not exist, is another readying to step into my world here? In between said and done lies a lucid time bomb, ticking, ready to scatter these pieces of life I’ve collected in every direction. I can see the end growing large, a shadow so dark it swallows what it overtakes. Slowly, things I’ve known fall, some fight, some jump in, I’ve no alternative but to seek shelter deep in my own skin. A stranger to everyone but myself, when a connection inside is clear there’s no need for codependency. This I see, that which once was real, I can erase from my slate, and fill it again new and far from here. Just sand running through the hourglass, so my chapter ends, there’s more to life than just one sad story, many more will be written, and soon enough my hourglass will turn over again.

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Desert Sky

You’re going fast, cause you’ve got somewhere to go. It won’t last, all you hold in your hand soon will pass. You’re catching up, but the scenery pulls further away. You’ve been stoned, but you’re only high in your imagination. Looking dumb, looking up to see what’s falling down on you. The waves of blinking lights hypnotize you into thinking everything’s all right. But in the day the lights fade and you’re feeling like a funeral parade. It’s sinking in, overheating from the cold air. The bluest eyes and clasping hands speak to whoever’s there. The desert sky doesn’t blink or wave it only hides the night. The desert sky gives you faith in your unborn wings and hope that you can fly. The desert sky will trade your gold for magic beans but there’s no rain for them to grow. The desert sky, oh my the desert sky will never cry.

You come back down when it’s convenient for you. The words are so false but you try to pain them true. Aiming so high but you’re digging for love with a plastic spoon. Riding the wind but time’s got you down on your knees. On the road but it feels like it’s on you, under your own feet and floating over your head. Sing notes with passing clouds, wondering how it got so loud. Cover your ears cause you fear what it’s saying. Washed clean by a rainbow’s tears, the uphill climb to regaining those years. The desert sky is what you’ve been missing. That cool breeze you’re kissing on that stretch of road you’re wishing. The desert sky won’t ever leave once you know its name. The desert sky breathes fire like a devil could it be they’re one and the same? The desert sky, oh my the desert sky will never cry.

If you couldn’t open your eyes what would you see? If you lived alone would you really be free? If you broke the chains would you still be a prisoner? If you had a million dollars, would you really be rich? If you had fame and fortune, would you truly be happy? If you lived forever, would you be forever young? Sometimes we think we need it all to survive when we need just enough. Just enough to survive under the desert sky.

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Rebirth of An Enigmatic Soul

I feel free, I feel alive, standing tall with arms outstretched and electricity flowing from my fingertips. I move like a cloud over the asphalt ground. The warm air smells fresh, I believe there’s a change coming on, now I can embrace its beautiful touch. A perfect balance of heaven and earth washes together, giving glimmers of hope to the saddest souls. It shows how high we can be lifted, the gift of witnessing how the world should always be. Life is now, love’s eternal light shining, this dream is real.

Only now is all peaceful and calm. The wind brushes by like an enigmatic soul, in a whisper tumbling over the shadowed green hills. It catches flight on wings of butterflies and carries them off across the newborn forest floor. Sun-ripened beauty fills each once lonely branch. I feel the hands caress my face and I’m flying. A rebirth of youth has occurred, I feel strong, I feel alive. Floating like a feather fallen from an angel’s wing, the centerpiece of an unreal scene. A painting only possible in the deepest undisturbed cleansing dreams.

Am I asleep? If so let me stay this way. If I’m awake can it always be like this? The peace outside builds inside my mind. The surreal clichés only used before in fiction, come to life around me and in my eyes. At least right now, if only momentarily, all my wildest dreams and fantasies are fulfilled.

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Sour Annie

Oh my dear Annie, you walk with a swagger, a cross between heaven and sin.

And when you speak, your tongue pierces me, a silver sword to my heart.

I can’t catch my breath, you’re above all the rest.

But you play with me like a ball of string. Unravel me for your pleasure, knot me up to keep me from slipping out of your hands.

Why are you so cruel, why is your heart cold?

Who makes your eyes shine, what makes you sing, where is the antidote for the sorrow you bring?

Well Annie, I’ve done all I can, now I’ve got to walk.

Sorry, sour Annie, girl, I was just trying to reach you...

Don’t put the blame on me, you’ve done all this before.

Don’t put the blame on me, I wanted to reach you but you pulled away.

I wanted once to look in your eyes and see straight into your mind.

I don’t think anyone can see that far in the darkness.

What’s that you say, wanting my help as the steel meshes in with your skin.

What’s that you want, a hand to hold, to bite off my fingers.

Sorry Annie, don’t wanna be you.

Sour Annie, wanna be in you.

Come on Annie, come on and punch a hole in the sky.

Tired of reaching, now gotta push you away.

Girl, I just wanted to reach you...

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1999: My Life In Poetry Form(Part 3) - Throwback Thursday

 

This is a weekly recurring series featuring 5 poems all written within the same calendar year. They capture a sense of what my life and my mind were like at a certain age. It will also show the evolution of my life, mind, and writing style. We return to 1999. I was still in college but was rapidly approaching the Quarter-Life Crisis turning 21 years old.

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Chips, Beer, and Boredom

Bored with life, nothing’s happening. Time is a mile-long journey per second, or so it seems. The silence of sound is deafening, but could it be any louder? It’s weird how the deadest of silence feels more intense than massive noise.

Bored with progress, everything is stalled. Need to kick start today, or get ahead on tomorrow. Bubbling under the lazy man’s face is the soul filled with lightning, flashing, and waiting for something to race. But in this dull and slow-paced world, it lay dormant; perhaps it will never reveal itself. A loud crash, not shaking me from this path I’m on. A compass with a predetermined destination can’t juggle fate, can’t change expectations.

Bored with it all, the cry of the feeble-minded. There’s always a way, just need to look with the mind, not just the eyes. Sinking in before it’s too late, color the air blind to avoid the realization of self-destruction. Thought the slate was cleaned for me, looks like I’ll have to do it myself. Being bored is bad for your health.

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I Fell

Once I fell in love, glasses and pigtails, all her world I felt in a hug. She a part-time interest with the miles to prove so. Spend 24/7 for 365 to get that one glimpse to keep me alive. The minutes we had together were minutes heaven sent. Months in between, I spent missing her, I thought was time well spent. But then I grew up. The letters and pictures that further disconnected her image from my mind couldn’t fill the hole. Didn’t want to hold on to hope, to hang on like a fool to the feelings for the sake of them. So I let go, and I moved on, to find out what lay up ahead.

Once I fell in love, bright eyes masking sunshine, blonde hair, couldn’t help but stare. She would stay a prisoner in my mind, with images emblazoned by the masses, it seemed to be the right time. Wanted so badly to be that guy, just a kid myself, to be him was not right. Shining armor with a backpack besides, guess when it’s perfection you’re thinking, the flaws are what decide. But then I wised up. Dreams of a place I’d never see weighed too heavy to stop from being free. Couldn’t stand the backward thoughts she felt, wouldn’t wait until she came around. Took me a while, but I walked on, left that door locked to keep the memories as just that, left ‘em all behind.

Once I fell in lust, thrown together oil and water, mix to fix and force the sense. Day after week after month spent trying to show false feelings and give in to lying. Saved her soul by being a hero, pedestal the excuse to stay near her. Made myself believe what wasn’t true, she was an option to being alone, just a time killer, only a space filler. But then I sobered up. Rays of light broken drunken spells, swallowed on mortality, grew the balls to let it fall away. I thought it was painful, a 180 to convince what was once unreachable, but I lived on. Hold was let go, mistakes and words unspoken, finally freedom welcomed me.

Once I fell in love, a seemingly untouchable goddess. She a ladder to heaven, blind eyes to my bruised senses. This love beat me into submission, her shake and twist led to heartfelt admissions. Sat and waited, empty bottle with a half-full glass. Sense from nonsense, knowledge from ignorance. Then I gathered up the words key to open my cell. So I marched on, up to her and revealed my identity, true expression, the lasting impression. Like a million pounds lifted, my feather in the wind floating body carried away with her response. I lived a hundred lifetimes for what I have right now, the time I fell in love with someone who loved me too.

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Recyclable Tupperware

She’s breakin’ up with me on my deathbed. Says time’s come to think about herself. It couldn’t wait another minute. She’s my savior, I’m her plague, and her loving pain’s pushed me to the limit.

She can’t cash in on a will I haven’t signed.

She can’t deny that her love for me has declined.

She wants me to climb her thorny vines.

She wants me to taste her rose garden.

But she won’t tell me that I’m okay.

She’s breakin’ up with me on my deathbed. Says we’ve grown apart in the last few hours. It couldn’t wait another minute. She’s my queen, I’m her pawn, and her hands are so gentle as she tears my heart out.

She melts my resolve with her eyes.

She leaves me stranded in a dream.

She’s chasing me down a dead-end street.

I stop to look behind and she runs away.

But she’ll chase again when I decide to run.

She’s breakin’ up with me on my deathbed. Says time’s come to move on. It couldn’t wait another minute. She’s my china, I’m her Tupperware, and she turns on the generator after pulling the plug, but she won’t tell me she loves me.

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Three Chord Romance

Tonight it feels like forever’s not long enough.

Tonight feels like I’ll never let go.

I believe in the fantasies and the words we dare not say.

Tonight is all rolled into one, dreams for which we pray.

You were there through this fantastic journey I made, you remained,

when the silence of the night crept in you stayed.

I believe I found it in your smile, brightly lit, asking me to stay a while.

I’d like to keep it simple right now, don’t want you to get the wrong idea,

but I’m not sure if I want the right one to slip out yet.

I got caught in the middle of confessions, deepest revelations,

the rest was swept away with the brush of your hair.

For now I’m stuck with half a thought that doesn’t make any sense.

You knowing the truth, the secret being out, 

would take the magic from my daydreams.

So many times I whispered your name into the trees and hoped it’d carry to you on the hint of a summer’s breeze.

If in our bliss the moon should fall, we’ll pick it back up,

put on a pedestal of stones thrown and collected.

Then we’ll lie in the shadows, a future of flowering meadows,

and let time drift by with the clouds.

Even when you have to go, the pain I feel helps my spirit grow,

cause if the first time never ends, how can the next time ever begin?

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