Rather Than Twiddle Your Thumbs, Write A Poem...

Withnail

Well-Known Forumite
A man and a meteor
Are one.

A man and a meteor and a fox
Are one.


With apologies to Wallace Stevens
 

db

#chaplife
what.jpeg
 

1JKz

Well-Known Forumite
Today...

... I got ready, set.
But not as ready, set

As i was expecting
To ruddy get.
 

Gramaisc

Forum O. G.
It's National Poetry Day -
I've got just this one thing to say.
It's been 33 years.
Many thousands of beers.
And I'm still farking angry.
OK?

Attila the Stockbroker.

NOTE:- The Forum's censor has altered a word..
 

poetsbumcheeks

Well-Known Forumite
Footsteps

Here I am again,
Standing at your door.
Peering through the window,
Squinting these eyes once more.

Some distance I have travelled,
I could tell you a lot.
Perhaps you are angry,
You think I forgot.

I took a left turn,
You the second right.
Maybe it was dark,
That doesn't mean it was night.

I had to keep going,
It's a choice that I made.
You can't pretend,
You didn't do the same.

I haven't changed,
Not really at all.
I'm still just the dreamer,
Like I was before.

But every step that we take,
Is common ground lost.
Unless we take time,
To join up the dots.
 

monkey bidness

Well-Known Forumite
It's National Poetry Day -
I've got just this one thing to say.
It's been 33 years.
Many thousands of beers.
And I'm still farking angry.
OK?

Attila the Stockbroker.

NOTE:- The Forum's censor has altered a word..


So, Stockbroker is the new euphemism for the c word?
 

poetsbumcheeks

Well-Known Forumite
Sarubobo

The monkey in me,
Was a rascal.

The rascal brought me,
Trouble, fun.

Trouble.

While the artist,
Beating heart.

And all.

Sustained the spirit,
Speaks my soul.

In tongues.

Love is strong,
Enough to make expression.

Lived in,
And necessary.

Evolution.

Innocent,
Beautiful child.

Reciprocity,
Purpose and repose.

Not selfish,
But connected.

Beyond the monkey.

Intelligent response,
To insane circumstance.

Reflection,
On reflection.

Existentially speaking.

The devil is in the detail,
The little tiny details.

As is The Lord.

Every choice,
Closes doors.

As the prey moves into focus,
Certainty returns.
 

poetsbumcheeks

Well-Known Forumite
In Luminem Ambula

In deep,
Swim.
The abyss,
Invites me in.
To the cold dense dark impenetrable sin.

Masks,
Fall.
Men,
Lose it all.
Here in the shadows, where the bodies can barely crawl.

For sure,
We're lost.
Find anything,
You've got.
Worth looking for, you'll lose over and over again until you stop.

In my mind,
Truth.
A word far too often,
Used.
Still I'd rather fail forever, than be someone else like you.
 

Withnail

Well-Known Forumite
Like Who?

Light
Lights
the way,

Sometimes

We see the sin
That just has been
Created for us -

- We ask
for no Mask
at all.

No masks fall
If we all
Eschew them

And just walk in light.
 

poetsbumcheeks

Well-Known Forumite
'I'

Withnail, I said,
You've done it again.

Given a life lesson inside your head.

To me.

Have you never ever read Dostoyevsky?
The bitter man who writes notes from the underground.

Do you hear that sound?

The crisis of existence; man counts his troubles but he cannot measure happiness.
To love is to suffer, without suffering there could be no love.

I stress.

This point to you.

Now I'm doing it too. Giving lessons.

And for what? Of Guy Debord?
A world where appearances mean more.

A society of images, not truth,
Succeeding by convincing you I do?

Playing in the dress shop of material endeavour encapsulating the unitary whole of endless choice through consumption unwittingly worshipping product, image, product.
Narcissistic me. I think not.

I walk in the dark. This is my appearance, my purpose.
I fail. Forever. Saints Go Machine.

Someone like 'you' 'In Luminem Ambula' forgot.

A Lonely little pig at the trough.

I do not walk in the light. These are far far too post, post-modern times.

Authenticity is a wasteland of iconoclastic reverence, sold back to us without a dream. The dark meaningless abyss.

We all wear masks, unless we are indeed the light, the source, the meditative silence. That speaks no violence.

My poem, was it just for you.

What cards would you show. It's not obligatory of course.

This response was easy.
No emotional labour required, you carried out that labour for me.
'I' simply reacted. 'I' acted. After the fact.

Though, I like critics - at least they care. They do, really really care.
I'm a critic too.

And I don't even know you.
 
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