Rooftop Poetry Club - Nicholas Conwall

Nicholas Conwall

Bio:
I decided to return to college after spending a few (too many) years in construction and seeing where it was going to lead me, crippled- old-broke-tired, also I was sick of seeing vast tracks of wilderness fall under the bulldozers blade in the name of development, especially when there are already so many places empty & unused right next door.

In fact the reason I entered into my intended majors is the hopes in that one day I might be the one who halts a Wal-Mart from filling in a wetland area or bulldozing a forest in the name of "low low prices".

For fun I like to spend as much time as possible in the great outdoors, hiking, fishing, a walk around the block, it doesn't matter in so long as I'm outside and my dog Genghis is with me, ( a black lab and the only person I have met that really listens), but I would rather it be as far away from the noise of cars and the stress of everyday life. A nice trout stream, the smell of pine trees and the sun on my face and I'm at home.

Poems:

Empty Page

There is so much I wish I could convey
to do, to write, to draw, to learn, to experience.
It seems that where others see endless possibilities
I see only the daunting vastness of a blank page
The potentials for its smooth clean surface are without end
my talents however are not.
My thoughts and emotions swirl through my head all trying to be free
(like a cow trapped in a tornados vortex)
but none can escape
They are trapped like a million marbles in a cinch cord sack
with the cord granny knotted and only a small hole in the bottom
(just big enough for one to pass)
Finally one falls through, followed by another, then another
until the page begins to take on weight, filling slowly.
First with only a doodle, then a word, followed closely by others
where sentences form and thoughts are completed
Finally it seems single file has been learned
They flow out steadily from their pen
One after another while the page fills
Such a simple idea we all learned in kindergarten
but so hard to put into practice once the crayons turn into real life.
But like all good things, especially those the simplest to learn
they tend to be forgotten and ruined by a few rogue marbles
Who, possibly thinking one better than the other
in trying for the light of day, cut in line, crowd the opening
And plug the hole
And stop my pen.