(no subject)
I’m so busy; I have little time for writing. I try to write poetry, since it’s easier, less time consuming, and more likely to be accidentally good, but I’m not a good poet. I need to be bored to write poetry. The Muse is an evil thing. Makes us write terrible poetry about emotions, love, happiness, sadness; all that crap that everyone has heard before. The mundane is where it’s at. The stupid things that nobody notices:
Oh, thumbtack of discerning taste.
...or the stuff no one wants to talk about:
Oh where, oh where did my foreskin go?
Apparently that has to be done very carefully. Like I said, I have to be bored and void of emotion to do it well. I suppose there are moments when I write something with the little emotion that I have boiling in me; I have to go back later when I’m bored and robotic to fix it.
Polished marble
wastes with age
and gold
stolen by thieves
We all know those people, generally ourselves, who are overwhelmed by the Muse and blather about “the way things could have been!” (See my previous post.) It’s possible to do it in a fresh manner (hey, that’s a good pun on wine, see my previous post;) however, it’s best to start with a fresh idea. Wait, scratch that, don’t start with an idea. Ideas lead to crap as well. If we think that “the point will be this,” then it will be crap.
Another rooster crows
but at 1 pm
really though,
the chickens think it’s hot.
Is it nonsense? Well, yeah, mostly, or is it? I remember a line from a poem that went something like “I balance a pad of butter on my knee.” Seriously though, everyone knows what I’m thinking; well, apart from how tasty butter is. Alright, I don’t even know what I’m thinking, but I remembered the line.
Boiling puddles
blue and gray
ashen scent and
dreary clouds
blind reddened eyes.
Slick touch bases
dissolve away
the skin.
The chemistry
of our mind
still misunderstood.
Why ask questions when they lead to no answer at all? Even worse, some of us will confidently answer the questions without fail; except, failing to question themselves. Foolish, but so very common, I do it myself, with exuberant pride.
We turn to one another
with hugs and kisses
and things not fit for TV
and never
will know
what we know
I think our punishment for our arrogance is our inability to be part of the universe. We’re all on the outside; we can’t even understand each other. My dog understands his world better than we do ours. Of course, I use the royal we and currently represent humanity.
Oh, thumbtack of discerning taste.
...or the stuff no one wants to talk about:
Oh where, oh where did my foreskin go?
Apparently that has to be done very carefully. Like I said, I have to be bored and void of emotion to do it well. I suppose there are moments when I write something with the little emotion that I have boiling in me; I have to go back later when I’m bored and robotic to fix it.
Polished marble
wastes with age
and gold
stolen by thieves
We all know those people, generally ourselves, who are overwhelmed by the Muse and blather about “the way things could have been!” (See my previous post.) It’s possible to do it in a fresh manner (hey, that’s a good pun on wine, see my previous post;) however, it’s best to start with a fresh idea. Wait, scratch that, don’t start with an idea. Ideas lead to crap as well. If we think that “the point will be this,” then it will be crap.
Another rooster crows
but at 1 pm
really though,
the chickens think it’s hot.
Is it nonsense? Well, yeah, mostly, or is it? I remember a line from a poem that went something like “I balance a pad of butter on my knee.” Seriously though, everyone knows what I’m thinking; well, apart from how tasty butter is. Alright, I don’t even know what I’m thinking, but I remembered the line.
Boiling puddles
blue and gray
ashen scent and
dreary clouds
blind reddened eyes.
Slick touch bases
dissolve away
the skin.
The chemistry
of our mind
still misunderstood.
Why ask questions when they lead to no answer at all? Even worse, some of us will confidently answer the questions without fail; except, failing to question themselves. Foolish, but so very common, I do it myself, with exuberant pride.
We turn to one another
with hugs and kisses
and things not fit for TV
and never
will know
what we know
I think our punishment for our arrogance is our inability to be part of the universe. We’re all on the outside; we can’t even understand each other. My dog understands his world better than we do ours. Of course, I use the royal we and currently represent humanity.