The Pendulum

My god, how I hate poetry. I’ve never been able to understand what it’s for.

Why is the pendulum dusty, by the way?

The interesting thing about poetry is that it is not written for you, it is written for the poet and they alone will understand the full depth of the emotion and intellect that went into its constitution. It is a way for the poet to express something that has been weighing on their mind, in a way that is transformative for them. A working through of thoughts and emotions related to things in their lives or things they have thought about. It is something they want to get across in a way that suits their complex mind and who may not have a voice to speak it well.

Poets don’t write their poems for you to understand, though some times it is so. While some others may read things in the poem that are uplifting, depression, passionate, beautiful, harrowing or otherwise interesting in any way that may or may not resonate in them, it is still written for the poet. A poet writes because he is inspired to do so, and cannot put down the pen.

So why can’t they keep it to themselves, then?

They mostly do.

But like most human beings, the thought that there might be others out there that can sympathize and empathize with their position or even better, connect with them because of a similar predicament is in our very nature.

…inspires one to wonder of what you might think anything is “for”.

The hour is late.
So easy to hate.
No need to try,
or reason the why.
Just hate it all,
…until you die.
Behind the closed door,
one wonders what it’s all for.

All it inspires me to do is groan.

It’s even worse when it rhymes.

“So easy to hate.”

What’s the point?

…any better when it doesn’t rhyme?

Poems that rhyme are a waste of time.

Beauty
What describes pleasure
Without intention
Sans it’s own aspiration
Perceived
Is more than it was
Before it was beautiful
A purity of sightfulness
Drunk without forethought
And seeping into our very being
Replacing the shadowy crevices
Taking away darkness
Warming the spaces long cobwebbed
With the deepest breath
Flooding through

And pseudo-intellectual misanthropes are a dozen for a dime.

Isn’t it so? That rhymes though.

I don’t hate mankind, I’m just a pseudo-intellectual that doesn’t like poetry.

Poets sing themselves.
They do not sing for fun.
They perch on this limb and that;
And some folks like their songs;
And some folks shoot them down.

Aussenseite,
I’ve just finished reading 1600 pages of contemporary poetry. Your poems stand up alongside the best.

I’m published. Are you?
This tread was meant to be a poetry tag. Are you trying to usurp it as Trixie did the other thread? Maybe not. Maybe you just don’t get poetry. I wish I could say something to persuade you of its value. You like songs? They are poetry put to music. Rap is poetry.

What on earth do you suppose I may have published? Poetry?

My comments were probably inappropriate, given the nature of the thread, but I don’t think my style is quite as blunt as Trixie’s.

There’s no maybe about it, I totally don’t get it.

Music is my thing but I prefer it without singing.

Flyswat
I sometimes stand here swatting flies
Because they are immediate,
Because I feel superior
To senseless flitting in my face.

I sometimes stand here far too long,
Absorbing meaning from attack
Because the lure of lobbing lies
Can hide a moment’s impotence.

Maybe when you’ve finished swatting flies you should go and dust your pendulum.

Perhaps start a thread on your dislike of poetry to stop derailment of this one further.