When I was around 12 or something

When I was around 12 or something

 

 

 

I was a great writer once

in grade school, 

 

I could cursively attend

to my A, B, C's

with perfect penmanship

 

could even coagulate them

to form words

maybe even simple poems

 

as was their habit

the nuns prayed over me

hoping I would do something

with my inherent talent

 

I grew up and made it big

in adolescence

splashing curses on tenement walls

with perfect penmanship

 

I was a great writer once

in grade school

 

fluent on NY walls

I wrote three- to-five word essays

on brick parchment

hoping to make a difference

 

the paint's dried

my life is old now

those nuns are all gone

 

maybe my walls would have made them proud

maybe I could shout out loud

with perfect penmanship

 

habits die hard

writing dies more easily

with whitewashed walls

 

whitewashed brain

and just a small breadth

left

of that great writer.

 

 

erin-cilberto

12/27/2020

Reviews

[Helen]

I like the sense of rebellion in this poem "hoping to make a difference". I don't believe that you have a whitewashed brain or that there is only a small breath left of the revolutionary spirit. This poem flows for me - the ideas tumble out without any of the grating that can happen with poetry sometimes due to rhythms that are not in tune with my own.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I appreciate your words, Helen.
j.

[Relic]

"And the words of the profits were written on the subway walls." I believe where we apply our talent is mostly up to us and our perspective of past success. My drumming always got me accolades. I opened for many bands from the '70's.

Yet, although I've played on major stages, I wound up playing in bars most of my life, far from any record contract. I see the same in this poem. The speaker didn't quite live up to the expectations of the nuns, but he plied his trade in an unorthodox way that pleased him regardless.

Writing is expression, whether on walls, websites or books. In most cases, dedication is usually more prominent to the one writing than those who never see the writing. Therefore it becomes a part of his identity.

Those subway cars in the '70's were perceived as an artform to the paint can scribbler, though try telling that to the guys that had to clean it up, or the people going to work that were exposed to it everyday and had no understanding or tolerance for it.

Funny enough, graffiti started a whole new culture that would effect a generation of kids that would modify and mold the music that kids listen to today.

I suppose age modifies and molds our perspective on what we love to do or how we see things as opposed to others.

In whatever form words take - whether a dripping spray can, a pen, or keys...poetry, tags, or stories, are a part of a writer no different than a cross hanging around the neck.

Each poem a prayer.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Yes, each poem a prayer....I bet you could really play those skins...would have been fun to hear you do that.
thank you for your words, Relic...
"and echo the sounds of silence"--
j.

[Robert Trakofler]

You can scrawl on any of my walls anytime good sir in fact pick any wall at my gallery and I will spackle it! I think it's funny for all of my years of writing I haven't changed all of that much when I found that piece I wrote when I was 12 my voice hasn't changed all that much either:/ so much for growing with time:/

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I hear ya on writing not changing.
I will never grow up, and neither will my writing...
obviously.
thank you brother bunny.
j.

[barleygirl]

This is too brilliant! I was reading along in dumbfounded awe, bombarded with vivid visuals & intense emotion eddies. Wow! You have kicked off 2021 with a vengeance in this & the Dylan poem! Keep kicking a*s & hopefully 2021 will be a taming of the worldwide shrew (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I just keep plugging along...thank you for your kind words, Margie.
j.

[light and ashes]

Your writing is still well alive and breathing.
Happy new years, Jacob. May you be well and thoroughly blessed throughout it.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, Light...and Happy New Year's back.
j.

[light and ashes]

You're welcome :) and thank you

[Patricia]

Ok, I am having ptsd flashbacks from catholic school! I think this is brilliant. Our best writings are the ones on the walls. They are fiercely passionate and spontaneous. Although I would say that of all your poems no matter your age.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Yeah? well wait till I turn 13...then I will be tall enough to reach that wall.
thank you, Pat,
j.

[Patricia]

Lol ok I’m counting the years!

[Einstein Noodle]

he needs a new batch of nuns says i ... to light a fire of rebellion once more ... whitewashed brick sounds to me like a fresh new canvas ;))))))))))))))))))))))))
E.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Yes, perhaps....thank you, E.
j.

[Einstein Noodle]

;)..............................

[Island Hippy]

Aloha J, that title is gold. Sheesh you’re so utterly unique I’ve not been here in a while and still your writing blows me away with your style of storytelling how tangible it all feels line by line. ‘Just a small breadth left’ HARDLY 😊 more like an entire ocean! Brilliant my friend x

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Izzy, so great to see you again...and Kalani and Skipper are beautiful kids...
thank you for your kind words and Happy, Happy New year.
j

[.]

I agree with all that you wrote here, because it seems from your poems that you were a genius from the beginning! Even I used to write poems in our school's wall magazine and journals. But that were very feeble attempts of mine.... But I should talk about you... But I don't agree with your last stanza... You have that capacity to write more of those beautiful lines.... And it's a fact! Though sometimes we ourselves questioned why we are writing at all:)... But I hope you will continue with your poetic talent to surprise us.... Thank you and a very happy new year to you...

[jacob erin-cilberto]

you are kind, thank you, Sima...
j.

[andrew mitchell]

We show so much potential when young, maybe these dreams are crushed growing up. Circumstances change everything maybe. I wish I kept all my my compositions from primary school. My parents got a kick out of them but it was traditional back then to burn all school books at the end of the each school year
, sadly. Great write J with your usual high standard flair.

[andrew mitchell]

I wish I was 12 again.