Old friends

Kristin noticed that I have been publishing things since before she was born. I think by the time she came along, I had published five articles.

The first thing I published, though, was a poem that appeared when I was a freshman at Michigan State. It was in the 1968 Biennial College Poetry Review: America Sings, published by the National Poetry Press.

This is actually a poem I wrote while a senior in high school. I don't know the exact date, but I was writing a lot of poetry then -- like lots of adolescents, and most of it no great shakes -- and there had even been an article about it in the Huntsville High School Hornet Hive. One day it was raining outside and Bill Driscoll, who was sitting behind me in class, said, "Why don't you write a poem?"

So this is what I wrote. There is no title.

Raindrops falling,
Splatter the streets,
Washing the cares
from a tired, dusty world.

Teardrops falling,
Splatter the face,
Washing the cares
From a sad weary child.

Fiercely swirling,
Fighting downward,
Tiny fists beating his brow.
Tiny hands grasping his clothing,
Weighting his body
And slowing his step.

I did not have any story in mind, as I recall, but was just trying to capture the sound of the rain. I like the rhythm of it still, but it sure sounds like the semi-depressed poems a teenager would write, doesn't it?

I had a small notebook ful of things like this, but I threw it away at some point.