Used to write poetry whilst listening to song with lyrics in them I liked and turned some lines into my own poetic forms. It was a good way to apprehend too much original idea being brought into such a heartfelt subject as poetry and then making it no longer novel, but serious. It’s not an easy thing to mean what is said during the immediate throes of writing poetry seriously, it takes some reflection after the act to deduce what is meant. That’s the fun thing about it, that’s the novel thing.
Came up for nothing again
look as you’re leaving in the leaden twilight
the silence we shared was out of sight.
Left with the poignant, almost animate memory of when;
of a play
an interaction succinct and contrite
of when I was left with no
thing to say.
On a stage there we enacted the play
intercourse discursive interspersed with uninteresting observations,
it was out of sight
so out of sight
the bit on the stage where we say “this isn’t a stage”.
With remorse as it’s
just the same thing
said each day.
“Of course we’re on the same page.”
Sorry but there’s this story I know quite intimately
because it’s gory and told through me
I don’t know when or if I’ll tell it
easier to write it out on paper, spell it
to quell doubt
I might tell it all
if one is patient and devout
Reading this for nothing again
Took the only source of anything bright.
Violence I wasn’t spared, or terror or fright.
Carousel, carousal, carosel, ca
1-4-08 ixinx
Came up for nothing again
look as you’re leaving in the leaden twilight
the silence we shared was out of sight.
Left with the poignant, almost animate memory of when;
of a play
an interaction succinct and contrite
of when I was left with no
thing to say.
On a stage there we enacted the play
intercourse discursive interspersed with uninteresting observations,
it was out of sight
so out of sight
the bit on the stage where we say “this isn’t a stage”.
With remorse as it’s
just the same thing
said each day.
“Of course we’re on the same page.”
Sorry but there’s this story I know quite intimately
because it’s gory and told through me
I don’t know when or if I’ll tell it
easier to write it out on paper, spell it
to quell doubt
I might tell it all
if one is patient and devout
Reading this for nothing again
Took the only source of anything bright.
Violence I wasn’t spared, or terror or fright.
Carousel, carousal, carosel, ca
1-4-08 ixinx
