An Idiosyncratic Poem Enthralled With Its Own Voice

[theirishsea]

Don’t feel like writing but
My conscience says
WRITE
You
(not Deixis-----I’m referring to myself)
Live only once
And you want to leave a mark
A notch on the tree
A trail sign
Which may be a tall plant’s stalk
Tied into a knot
Or maybe just some inane sentences
But they are mine written down
Maybe poorly typed
Then again maybe edited
That means corrected
But the punctuation has run off
Like a bathing beauty with a big tear
In her suit
In an unmentionable area
That isn’t funny but draws the eye
(Deixis Warning---whose eye(s)?)
And so
Since sentences are words conveying
Remembered or imagined experiences
Just know
That though there is almost no
Punctuation
No lovely structure is running for
The bathhouse with hands
Strategically defending the right
To privacy
In a running off poem
Cause
These words are just words
Sounds if you speak them loudly
Or sibilants if your whisper
Especially the esses
No distress
Unless someone takes it all
Seriously

I’ve left my mark on a blank screen
And though it will be
Erased
That’s life/ That’s language
That’s communication
Echoes fade lower and lower and lower and lower
Sound waves wave goodbye

[theirishsea]

No comments? I guess the poem makes its own comments.

Political poems? I wish I could lessen my anger at the clown, at evangelicals, at Moscow Mitch, but I find writing about just stirs the coals of anger. Also have a computer problem, making it hard to type on the computer, navigate. Hope to have things fixed by next week.

[mnaz]

I like the typed-in text box as a notch in the tree. So true! As for "political," I'm starting to despise the whole notion of it as a failed and/or irreparably corrupted human endeavor that must be almost entirely discarded in its current form(s) (even here in this Great "Democ(k)racy," which is purportedly the best our species has ever managed in its history!). It's just become too much of lead weight on the running shoes of our (badly needed) timely evolutionary process...

But I digress. My text box ran off again. Sorry...

[judih]

your words, our words
notches in trees
cut down mid-phrase

[saw]

the writer must write
just like the puppet must dance
maybe we cannot see the invisible hands
that move the strings, but we know
there is something there that insists
we document our "madness"
I can relate...

[mtmynd]

No comments? I guess the poem makes its own comments.

Nay, my good man...this is a journey in words that took this reader into the hinter lands of joy and smiles, with nary a disappointment but only thinking "can he add to this?", so welcome it was, idiosyncratically speaking.