Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

maybe all these poems
all these pages of scribbled life
are a big waste of time, who will care
about all those nights I invested, all those days
of coaxing my consciousness to spew
projectile notions from the launchpad
on my shoulders....liftoff into the space
where random truth meets blank
yellow pad, words rolling along the blue highways
the red marginal lines keeping watch over the process
the colors of my poetry a peacock tail
fanned by the flames of my desires
who the fuck cares, is this just a silly
obsession meant to pander
to my unrelenting nature, will the kids
just throw the boxes in the trash
confronted by my passing on into heckler's night
in the big sky, where obese cats in plastic suits
yell from big round tables in the cloudy room
known as Dante's Inferno Lounge,

YOU CALL THAT A METAPHOR ? !

GREAT POEM IF YOU'RE IN A COMA !

ONE WORD FOR YOU PAL....METER !

"GREAT POEM IF YOU'RE IN A COMA !"

Exactly.

I've always wanted to ask a real poet if he or she really does care if what they leave is ever read again.

I wrote a poem once titled, "Burn My Poetry" ... I connected it with my own death and cremation.

I loved your poem, Steve.

I DO believe that when I go, nobody will remember my poetry and my children will toss my old computer in the trash and the only pieces which will be saved will remain online (for however long the sites where I posted them remain online) and then they'll be gone, just like I'll be gone.

I was never interested in fame so these facts don't bother me much.

I must admit that it DID bother me a little bit when my sister was moving and I saw one of my poetry books as well as a CD I recorded of spoken word and piano in the recycling Goodwill pile. What can I say? I admit it bothered me a bit. (that rhymes so it must be a poem.. haha)... I picked up my own book and my own CD which I'd given her as gifts one Christmas and put them in my purse and took them home without saying a word about it. Similarly, when Mom died last March, we were cleaning out her apartment and there were books written by Clay (Lrod) on the shelf. She loved reading Lrod's poetry and social commentary. One of my other sisters asked, "Do you want these or should I throw them away?" That kind of got me, too. I didn't take them since I already had copies of them but it sort of bothered me. Now, he was one who DID seek fame. He wanted his name known and recognition for his work. Hopefully his Wordpress sites (one for poetry and one for "The Poet's Eye" social commentary columns) will remain online for a while anyway.

I write because I have to. I also admit, I am pleasantly touched when some of my work which I post on the net connects with some other human being who reacts to it to let me know they connected to it. That makes me feel like the work I'm doing is not just totally for the trash bin.

But the day will come when I'll be gone and so will all my words and poems .... so it is what it is (as cliche as that is) .... and since we are only here for here and for now, I'm fine with it.

Who fucking cares? I care about your writings and I care about this poem. AND... I understand it.

of all the titles I scanned today
this was the one I chose to comment on
because yeah!!
being able to write has saved my fucking soul
I had a many years' hell and writing was the only thing that kept me alive
we do it out of self-preservation don't we
don't ever think it means nothing
it doesn't

God, what a scary image ... hecklers in the big sky ...

Maybe if you negotiate the hecklers correctly in the here-and-now, you avoid them "out there" ... Jeez, I hope so.

I became a poet, or I would die, I almost died anyway becoming a poet.

if it gets u through the night......ponder them uncontrollables.....wonder in the yonder of the other side.....nobody getting out of this place alive....love shit like this.....it all boils down to u do it because u was born to do it

really enjoyed all the participants for this one, and especially your unique takes and comments on the poem.....makes it all worthwhile...thanx