Tuesday, January 01, 2008

No Denying

Readers of this blog know that ol' Chance enjoys himself a little poetry. From the title of the blog itself to quick allusions peppered throughout the posts' titles and texts, from outright quotations to my often-Googled top ten list, I have never been shy about showing mad respect for the classic wordsmiths.

But never have I shared my own execrable attempts at verse with my largely hypothetical reading public. Until now. Yes, it's 2008, the Year of the Rat, and it's time to dig through my youthful indiscretions with Calliope and revive some of the least shabby entries.

This one is called "No Denying." I wrote it around ten years ago. It's pretty much doggerel, I'm afraid, but it's deeply felt doggerel. It's a bitter description of a very bad breakup. Like almost all my poems, it rhymes; influenced heavily by the poets who worked within strict rhyme schemes (Tennyson, Keats, Houseman, Shakespeare, Dylan), I tend to agree with Garth Ennis' devil in "Hellblazer" --- "poems that don't rhyme reflect a fundamental lack of effort." That said, however, I have written a couple of free verses in my time, and I'm going to share them in future posts.

No Denying

There's no denying, I would be lying, if I said I wasn't in love
It just goes to show that you never know what happens when push comes to shove.
There's no true answer, hate spreads like cancer; I won't say that I think it's right
But nothing will last and some things end fast and love dies like switching a light.

There's no denying, I wasn't trying, I don't think that I'd call it fair
That awful sunrise you tore out my eyes --- you taught me what it meant to care.
Thought you'd drained me dry, I couldn't say why; saw myself as only a void
I felt them that dawn, and then they were gone, love's remnants you'd finally destroyed.

There's no denying, spent some time crying, once I learned it truly was dead
I know you wept too, I felt it anew: within me compassion had fled.
Yes I could have tried before our love died with some hope of finding a cure
It's almost a crime, and yet by that time our motives were no longer pure.

There's no denying, I would be lying, if I said I wasn't to blame
I am still haunted by what you wanted, but my life is only a game.
I was part wild, part little child; my love was so grounded in trust
You drifted away, then finally one day you crumbled my pride into dust.

There's no denying, I wasn't trying, my apathy guided me through
My myriad fears throughout all our years had taken a back seat to you.
So what a surprise fell from those blue skies, put to death my ignorant dream ---
Like some insane hoax, the cruelest of jokes, and rooted in low self-esteem.

There's no denying and no defying your base urges and your senses
I gave you a ring, asked only one thing, and lowered all my defenses.
Like some lovesick dog, I walked in a fog; in your heart no light of love shone.
Now hurt and afraid, I've gravely repaid the wages of being alone.

There's no denying, I wasn't spying, I was in no way suspicious
I couldn't conceive, in no way believe you could ever be that vicious.
Perhaps in your heart, that cold twisted part, those urges were too long denied
There's nothing to say, no point anyway --- I feel cold and empty inside.

There's no denying, we are all dying, we move toward our graves with each breath
We go with a debt of pain and regret to the court that we know as death.
I gave you your space, let you set the pace; me alone in our double bed
You wanted it all, the rise and the fall; now your hands are maculate red.

There's no denying, I think of dying, more than I consider my life
Taunted and hunted, every part stunted, I'm no man to take on a wife.
At least I was torn before I was born; a bad jar, but quite a fine start ---
Twisted and scarred and calloused and hardened for further assaults on my heart.

4 comments:

Janet said...

You know what? I really like it! It reads like a song.

Chance said...

Thanks!

Michael5000 said...

It totally reads like a song. I had it set to a tune before I was done with the second verse. If I had my studio set up, I'd demo it out for you, but that would be bad, because you would probably kill me for butchering it.

The top ten poetry list is pretty awesome. I keep a volume of Yeats, a volume of Auden, and a volume of Cummings by my bed, along with your basic general anthology; not terribly esoteric taste, but MAN those guys were good....

Chance said...

No, that would be cool. I've always wanted to have a side career as a rock band lyricist, like Robert Hunter. Except I wouldn't smell like patchouli.