scribbling in the back row
I wrote a couple of poems spontaneously in class the other day when I was REAL tired (I was in a lecture-hall . . . I wouldn't be rude enough to do that in a classroom where it is more noticeable). I think they are kinda cool but I am unsure whether I should record them in my *good* notebook, because they seem pretty nightmarish and perhaps even mediocre . . . but perhaps they also have an urgently unique appeal . . .
1
Are you upset? upset? upset?
Well I'm tired. tired. tired.
I believe I could sleep for a thousand years
and awake like it's tomorow . . .
I would awake and grab a meal
and all you losers would still be here;
still squabbling for your petty shit.
2
We must destroy their wall
those evildoers we must crumble it down
with our sorceror's help . . .
He's a funny fellow, jester's hat, performing
his happy dance while it begins to crumble.
Calls himself "Miestro," says all he has to do
this Friday is crumble a stupid wall
(then drinking, then gambling).
Certainly those sinners cried before nightfall
and before dawn they were a pile of ashes.
. . . and that's a wrap. I would appreciate a little feedback, cos as it stands I think I might just let those notecards end up in the trash. there once was a time when I recorded every little thing I could come up with, until the day I realized I had nothing more than a bunch of dumb rants. but if any of you actually like them, I will indeed record them. cos like I said I think I might see something special in these poems but in this case I can't really tell . . .
1
Are you upset? upset? upset?
Well I'm tired. tired. tired.
I believe I could sleep for a thousand years
and awake like it's tomorow . . .
I would awake and grab a meal
and all you losers would still be here;
still squabbling for your petty shit.
2
We must destroy their wall
those evildoers we must crumble it down
with our sorceror's help . . .
He's a funny fellow, jester's hat, performing
his happy dance while it begins to crumble.
Calls himself "Miestro," says all he has to do
this Friday is crumble a stupid wall
(then drinking, then gambling).
Certainly those sinners cried before nightfall
and before dawn they were a pile of ashes.
. . . and that's a wrap. I would appreciate a little feedback, cos as it stands I think I might just let those notecards end up in the trash. there once was a time when I recorded every little thing I could come up with, until the day I realized I had nothing more than a bunch of dumb rants. but if any of you actually like them, I will indeed record them. cos like I said I think I might see something special in these poems but in this case I can't really tell . . .