Stumbled across this old W. B. Yeats poem in the weirdest of places (a sci-fi show). The mention of this poem interested me enough that I looked the poem up and it meant a lot to me. Wish I could write like this.
Like most of my poetry from the past, this is a little bit of wallowing in depression it seems. I don’t write much poetry anymore. I don’t know if that means I’m less depressed or less creative than I once was.
To any old friends who are reading this and might feel uncomfortable… Don’t. The poem is a bit of maudlin dribble, but it is also secretly enjoying past versions of ourselves, and is merely an experiment in writing.
Anyway, I kind of like this bit of reminiscing about old friends. In part I like the structure of choppy sentences, its reference to “in jokes” that no one else would get, and the way it turns at the end to wonder if others ever feel the same. Continue reading Poem: It was nice knowing you when