Archive: 1990 Retired

These entries — originally written at ages  16 and 17  in my journals, for schoolwork, or for friends and family — were previously used as filler or honeypots for The Quote Garden and most have long since been retired from the site but I am keeping them archived for reference. Many were first posted under other pen names. There are also two previously unpublished poems.  —Terri Guillemets

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We’re all accidental soldiers in the army of life.

     DATE:  1990 Sep 22

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Our behavior is human with a sliver of animal, our souls animal with a sliver of human.

     DATE:  1990 Sep 26

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There’s only one problem with the beauty of springtime — always running out of film!

     TITLE:  Depth of field
     DATE:  1990 Mar 17

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Sometimes I’m not quite sure what it means, but the words are so beautiful I know it must be profound.

     TITLE:  In the library, alone & ecstatic
     DATE:  1990 Nov 5

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Dreams digest the meals that are our days.

Dreams are road signs along the nighttime highway of sleep.

Dreams are free therapy. Consult your inner Freud.

Dreams are free therapy, but you can only get appointments at night.

Dreams are nature’s answering service — don’t forget to pick up your messages once in a while.

     DATE:  1990 Sep 22

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Handwriting is autobiography.

     TITLE:  Analysis
     DATE:  1990 Mar 6

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Nature’s beautiful dancers — flowers, water, leaves
Dancing to the music of a sweet gentle breeze!

     DATE:  1990 Apr 14
     NOTES:  revised

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Stop being your own pest.
Start doing your own best.

     TITLE:  Self-stumbling
     DATE:  1990 Oct 1

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I feel
sew restless
needle & thread
stitch my days
but life bolts

     TITLE:  Restless
     DATE:  1990 Jun 18

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The club met my head with a brittle, hollow sound;
I lost my balance and fell to the ground.
My flesh cried out and stung in haste
as the knife blade slashed across my waist.
The grit on the bottom of his worn-out boot
dug deep into my skin
when the stranger stomped on my face.

He ran away, he got me good.
My eyes were black,
my bruises blue,
my nose all bloody red.

Lampposts and cars the only witness to my
limping around and falling down,
asphalt digging into my wounds.
Oh, the stinging tears, the aching parts,
a throbbing head, hospital bills, Rx pain pills.

Nothing, nothing at all
weighed against
how I beat myself up every day,
without so much as a scratch.

     TITLE:  Perfectionism
     DATE:  1990 Nov 16

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Can a good person be both a tree hugger and a book lover, when one has to be murdered to create the other?

     TITLE:  Gilt
     DATE:  1990 Jul 10

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Does someone with a magnetic personality always point north?

     DATE:  1990 Jul 14
     NOTES:  revised

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I can give you 1040 good ways we can improve our government.

     TITLE:  Forms of adulthood
     DATE:  1990 Feb 11
     NOTES:  revised

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