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Apr
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Since Mohamed Alithen Cassius Clayannounced he had written “The world’s shortest poem,” I’ve known that I might be a poet. “His victorious announcement stimulating shivers inside my uneasy teenaged identity, for I reasoned in rhyme. Every day hundreds-of-thousands of reputedly sane souls satisfy some inbred need to reveal their hidden personality thru awful alliteration or in delusional doggerel. As in Kris Kristofferson’s early works, the fabulous wizardry masquerades inside sweet musical words, providing us with perpetual material going beyond generational barriers. Even if none but we are ever permitted to inspect our concealed essence, an inner aching is unleashed only to be squished should we presume to be put out.
In1978, I self-published my first poetry book, Beacon, to an ardent reception of some ignorant who did not realize, fearing refusal, I’d never submitted my musings to somber publishers. And he was said at that time to be, “The world’s most generally read poet.”. To the accolade of local hick fans, the next year, I followed up with Defects, Verse by Russ Miles, songs and thoughts reflecting who, where, and what I was at that time in my life.
My books selling well, a young, insatiable ego was being satisfactorily stroked. What if a cruel God held me responsible for my wanton actions or the impact of foisting my unrighteous understandings on innocents? Removing all remaining copies from the marketplaces which I had developed for distribution, I stopped penning poetry for the subsequent twenty five years.
Disabled at age fifty-three by Multiple Sclerosis, I found myself writing another book, For Sale By Owners: FSBO. A poser thriller novel developed offering some revelations that only a self-absorbed, worldly man of three messed-upped unions could doubtless convey.
I continue to learn that God is so forgiving. How he will inspire good to come of all things. Even some of my old songs are once again waiting for discovery thanks to Red Haring, the song-writing, truck-driving personality appearing between the FSBO covers. By today’s standards, Red Haring’s clear verse words and wayward rhyme renderings are not deplorable.
Rather they reflect the refined “It’s all about me” unethical fiber of a male wrestling with post 9-11 internal issues choosing to make a few changes in his so self-consumed life. Red’s songs appear to excite reflections inside Brooklyn Best, the no-saint hero, property agent with whom he becomes romantically concerned. They finish up collaborating to unravel some horrific homicides in this fact based mystery thriller novel. Thru its use in a sub-plot, my poetry is being reborn. As for Beacon and Defects, maybe I could offer my few remaining hand signed & numbered “First Edition” & “Limited Edition” poetry books on e-Bay.