Preceding Comments

Poetry, a strange word for the life style I seemed to have taken in my life's past.

   The clown, the tough guy and the less caring images that I had a need to portray throughout my life were an illusion or barrier if you will to keep people beyond an arm’s length away never letting them near to see the man behind the walls and armor. Those who knew me or those that think they know me don’t really know me at all.
After all, living a life style with a family such as mine, with their hate, hurtfulness and their desire to destroy anything or anyone that did not share their point of view and which they could not understand didn’t seem to show until after my father’s passing. Therefore these were a few things I needed to learn to wear in order to survive, and I carried them out beyond that life.
   Writing came easy during my pre-teens. Little snippets and verses I kept tucked away. You might say they were my way to justify those actions of hate in my life. But when they were discovered, it opened yet another door of ridicule and teasing that they felt the need to share with others. Yes I may have stopped writing, or when I did I burned them to keep them unseen to protect the man within. I could not and would not allow others to see my inner soul in fear of the ridicule that I knew would come so the Billy Bad Ass with no feeling armor was born to be worn.
   My physical limitations in my younger years were also my torment. Siblings can be your best friends your mentors and sometimes you protectors. Then there are those which I know much too well can be the predator carnivorous animals in nature.
Family and friends could never understand why I chose to write about the melancholy episodes of my life rather than the happier times, well for those that can read between the lines the answers are there in plain sight. For some strange reason, verbally I was not listened to but after writing I was heard and understood.
   So for the last ten plus years I have been writing to myself again. While the family has given their mark of disapproval many others felt as though I should publish my feelings of hurt, worry, disappointment and despair. While others felt they would make good lyrics for country songs.         So today I am reopening The Woodsman's Notebook under  new look...
    The following pages are of my life in a poetic verse.
Welcome to The Woodsman’s Notebook.