The Poems

[d63]

oops:

[d63]

The poems are everywhere,
watching,
like the ubiquitous dead.
They hide in dark corners
and say nothing.
*
I work the campus at night.
And during my rounds,
in dark and isolated places,
I find myself looking constantly over my shoulder
for fear the poems are following.
*
The last time I wrote a poem,
I had more courage,
lack of self consciousness,
cockiness,
recklessness perhaps…

I’m not sure which.

But I’ve been myself on better days.
*
?: if you stumbled upon a poem,

and had a gun,

would you shoot it…
*
Floods, hurricanes, drought, the impotence of antibiotics in the face of impending epidemics, AIDS (the new diabetes), overpopulation, climate change, the failure of democracy in the face of globalization, obesity in America (the cauldron of narcissism), intolerance, austerity measures, the commercialization of culture, the commercialization of politics, reality TV…

The signs are all there.
Surely, the poems will follow.
*
There are times when the poem will appear out of nowhere,
approach from behind,
and tap you on the shoulder.

Let’s hope it doesn’t have teeth.

[d63]

4 Mag.

[d63]

The poems and I
move in different circles.

[Stuart]

Do what you can to eliminate the poems, they really do hurt, mine do anyways.

[Arcturus_Descending]

d63

The poems are everywhere,
watching,
like the ubiquitous dead.
They hide in dark corners
and say nothing.

Poor things - waiting on us to give them a voice, to give a voice to ourselves. But don’t worry, they will follow but they have no force without you. But they have strong force within you. I don’t think they say nothing though…it’s just that we turn our ears away from them.

I work the campus at night.
And during my rounds,
in dark and isolated places,
I find myself looking constantly over my shoulder
for fear the poems are following

.
You can only hope that they don’t turn around and go follow someone else.

The last time I wrote a poem,
I had more courage,
lack of self consciousness,
cockiness,
recklessness perhaps…

I’m not sure which

.
Perhaps that’s because you found ‘yourself’ through that poem. There are so many lonely poems walking the lonely streets of our minds waiting to be found and seen by us.

But I’ve been myself on better days.

?: if you stumbled upon a poem,

and had a gun,

would you shoot it…

Never would I shoot it. You might walk away from it, but if it is your poem, it will return to it or you will go in search of it. But even if you shoot it, you cannot kill it. It is a burning energy which will rise up again or transform itself into another poem.

Floods, hurricanes, drought, the impotence of antibiotics in the face of impending epidemics, AIDS (the new diabetes), overpopulation, climate change, the failure of democracy in the face of globalization, obesity in America (the cauldron of narcissism), intolerance, austerity measures, the commercialization of culture, the commercialization of politics, reality TV…

The signs are all there.
Surely, the poems will follow.

And all they ask is that you be the prophet that shows these things. As in Paul Simon’s song The Sounds of Silence…

…And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence

“Fools”, said I, “You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you”
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed
In the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said, “The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls”
And whispered in the sounds of silence

There are times when the poem will appear out of nowhere,
approach from behind,
and tap you on the shoulder.

Let’s hope it doesn’t have teeth.

There are also times when you can see the poem coming toward you in the distance…it looms larger and larger and by the time you are face to face with it, it is complete.
Sometimes the best poems are those with teeth.

I liked your poem.

[Arcturus_Descending]

@Stuartp523

Do what you can to eliminate the poems, they really do hurt, mine do anyways.

Can’t they be the best kind, the most meaningful? Are we to only experience the joy from them? If they give us the deepest pain, or something lost which continues on and on, is that not more meaningful than what gives us simple surface pleasure?
Perhaps the pain goes away when we understand finally what it is there for and how it has blessed us! And if not, so what?

[d63]

@Arcturus Descending

d63

The poems are everywhere,
watching,
like the ubiquitous dead.
They hide in dark corners
and say nothing.

Poor things - waiting on us to give them a voice, to give a voice to ourselves. But don’t worry, they will follow but they have no force without you. But they have strong force within you. I don’t think they say nothing though…it’s just that we turn our ears away from them.

.
Actually Arcturus, I think I’ll revise that to:

They hide in dark corners
and hold their tongues.

Do what you can to eliminate the poems, they really do hurt, mine do anyways.

Yeah, Stuart, they’re a little like children in that they are as hard to hate as they are to kill or abandon.

There are also times when you can see the poem coming toward you in the distance…it looms larger and larger and by the time you are face to face with it, it is complete.
Sometimes the best poems are those with teeth.

I liked your poem.

First of all, thanks for the compliment.

But as I’m sure you recognized, I was being ironic and facetious as much as anything.

As far as your Simon quote, I would compliment it with a line from the other poem I wrote in this session, To the Muse that has Abandoned Us:

May lovers love,
and poets and philosophers
take their place as prophets.
May they stand before the Beast
and raise their swords with serious thoughts,
not platitudes or slogans,
and the graves of the fallen
be marked with stolen flowers
by flopsy hipsters.

[d63]

The poems are everywhere,
watching,
like the ubiquitous dead.
They hide in dark corners
and hold their tongues.
*
I work the campus at night.
And during my rounds,
in dark and isolated places,
I find myself looking constantly over my shoulder
for fear the poems are following.
*
The last time I wrote a poem,
I had more courage,
cockiness,
or recklessness perhaps…

Maybe even arrogance.

I’m not sure which.

But I’ve been myself on better days.
*
?: if you stumbled upon a poem,
and had a gun,
would you shoot it…
*
Floods, hurricanes, drought, climate change, global warming, overpopulation (and in some circles: legal abortion and birth control), antibiotics outpaced, in evolutionary terms, by impending epidemics, drug resistant gonorrhea, AIDS (have you heard the word? it’s the new diabetes), religious fanaticism (gay marriage according to them) and its terroristic aspects, the failure of democracy, globalization (are multi-nationals not the new oligarchy?), obesity and ignorance in America, intolerance, austerity measures, the commercialization of politics and culture, news channels, the failure of Cox to keep my fucking high speed internet running smoothly, ED (?: should we bow to technology for Viagra) and now: even cowboys get the blues…

And what is C-span but reality TV?

All the signs are there.
The poems are sure to follow.
*
There are times when the poem will appear out of nowhere,
approach from behind,
and tap you on the shoulder.

Let’s hope it doesn’t have teeth.
*

[d63]

I can’t stop tweaking, man!!!

[d63]

The struggle of poetry for me, lately, has been that of finding that delicate balance between traditional poetics and the awkward rhythms of normal human conversation.

[d63]

Only a poem

could make a man feel

like the Devil himself.

(think: mick jagger

[d63]

:-"

[d63]