Caged in a Forest

I’m not constraining myself to posting in chronological order like I am with Brenda’s poetry. For her, posting in order makes a lot of sense as we are able to see how she grows, develops, and changes throughout her life.

I, on the other hand, am still alive (obviously!) Also, the volume(s) of my poetry aren’t compiled in perfect order, and, along with it, there are some poems I’m not yet sure I’m willing to share. They represent very difficult times in my own life and dredge up emotions and memories I’m not sure I want to face.

Be that as it may, I did find on the bookshelf my first poetry volume. It contains about 70 poems mostly written between 1984 (the year Brenda and I met) and 1990. This particular book is hand-scribed in Brenda’s handwriting (as are her books of poetry). One of these days I’ll scan a page or two so you can see her beautiful script. Considering she lost most of her “remaining” eyesight in 1984, right after we started living together, this is quite a feat. I’ll touch more on these events in the future, for sure.

As mentioned in the other thread, she and I both wrote Christmas poems. Some of them are recorded in my books, but others are stuck in a file-folder somewhere in my at-home office. I think I’ll share some of these during the month of December this year for your enjoyment.

I wrote three epic-style ballads about 5 or 6 years ago and posted on a game-discussion website. I’ll share those here at some point. Finally, I wrote numerous song parodies. One is already posted here, but I’ll share the others when I feel like it.

For today, I want to share a poem from 1999 written during a Spring poetry gathering.

Caged in a Forest
© W. Scott Grant
May 15, 1999

On the meeting room wall, my eyes are drawn
To the wallpapered image of a bird in a cage

- in a forest.

Birds fly free all around – feeding, playing, singing
While one is perched alone, wings folded

- in a prison.

Why is this, I wonder? Was he judged by his peers
A criminal? An outcast? A social reprobate?

- by his actions.

Or is this a prison of his own making? Imaginary bars?
Is he trapped by his own desires, responsibilities, and worries.

- kind of like us?


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