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    poetry


    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    Jack Kerouac,
    Under a pine tree
    Is trying to make love
    To the empty mountains.
    It’s true he sees knowing
    Like some silly older brother,
    Stems from knowing nothing really:
    “There’s nothing to be afraid of
    and nothing to be glad about.”
    That’s his golden emptiness.

    And chilled on-edge trying to drown
    Out the semblance of emptiness,
    I ring myself in remembrance;

    You see I was shown a map last night,
    And with the primal terror of a child
    I saw bangs falling into bangs,
    And the great ground swell coming back
    And all of this sustained by pulse,
    Pulse which would scoop you up in a wave
    Try as you might,
    To sit alone under a pine tree,

    And It forbade you from saying profound words
    To empty people, or nothing at all
    After all your words can’t be taken back
    There they are striving,
    Only to be a little more child-like.

    ...Created 2017-11-17 08:34:32

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    w

    ...Created 2017-09-23 13:30:03

    dotsJournal: Where I Amdots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: Relaxing

    So if you dont have anything good to say dont say it at all eh? Well first of all, if anyone is curious about my music they can look it up at https://soundcloud.com/brown-penny

    I dont presume anyone is but I am going to plug things where I can on my own page in terms of just linking my creative endeavors.

    Now these journals usually require a poem dont they?

    A haiku:

    Sad Molly Mallone
    Sees while rusting in the rain
    -Apple carts go by

    I am going to put together a little pamphlet of poetry I can sell in town for tourists. About landmarks and such. You could call it my Christmass card writing as its a bit cynical, but you know I actually enjoy it. And some of it is good.

    For actual poetry well its the shoulder against the wheel as usual. Ive been appreciating a lot more lately about what I want to write and what I think is actually a good path for me versus what I think should be as regards poems. If I have nothing to say I dont say it. And if I force myself to say something I make sure that I am practicing or learning something and not just doing it for no reason.

    I also have gone now from skim reading a load of things to reading just one or two books that really mean something to me from a poetic perspective I mean. With fiction Ill just read for pleasure.

    This is the update journal. Without going on and on about the boring stuff I suppose Ill say something about my surroundings.

    Its the 9 July at about 6pm and Im in Meaghers Pub in fairview (the town where I grew up). I had to visit the pharmacy earlier for a prescription and I still go to the same places for that stuff I did when i was a kid. So I couldnt resist going in for a drink or two in a place strong with memories.

    Its a cosy place. I had a friend who came and lived in fairview but he/we never came here. "e always went to Gaphneys. A perfectly fine establishment where they had paintings of these old boats going out to sea. A sailors bar in the middle of a road basically. It was great.

    But this particular pub has more memories for me. And I think of the neighbour who used to live underneath us and how he was such a friend to me and my Mam. I half feel like asking the equally old barman does he remember him but Ill forgo for the sake of not ruining the good will I have received in here.

    I think ultimately this will be my local where no one goes but me. Not family or friends but just me.

    Even during the day it has an after hours quality. And the bathroom feels like you are under a sky light. Airy and well... whatever ha.

    I think one day if I ever make money Ill move back here or buy a house here as my permenant retreat.

    Right slap bang in the middle of the congested city.

    Why not? Home is home after all.

    ...Created 2017-07-10 12:33:13

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    Not getting much writing done these days.

    ...Created 2016-10-24 19:22:09

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: Juggling Tasks

    A sallow sun is rising
    In time removed eyes tonight
    The stammering air is striving
    To disorientate my sight

    So new blooms appear grey,
    Shirking from a cloudless wild
    Of brightening blue-black clay,
    That would startle any child.

    But my piano keys are mute
    Underneath this trembling wood;
    This morning light seems only a brute
    Affectation of the blood.

    ...Created 2016-09-06 22:26:04

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    ...Created 2015-08-22 17:23:56

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: Lazy

    Is there any theme more tired than love?

    ...Created 2015-08-21 21:31:12

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    ...Created 2015-08-05 11:45:28

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: Juggling Tasks

    I have come to realise 90 per cent of what I write/post/end up with isn't a poem, rather it is me trying to write a poem. Of the thousands of sketches, ideas, rambles and attempts at a form or style recorded over the past ten years, I can probably count the number of true poems I'm proud of on one hand, maybe two if I'm very generous. One of them is on this page, "a view". I would stand by that, even for it's imperfections, the only thing it lacks in my opinion is a proper title. How great then, is my respect for people who can go on writing poems throughout their lives and keep improving. Strange too, how young people can write the most interesting things, without the baggage of experience, and self-criticism. It's really difficult to know what a poem is, I think we know it when we see it, but it's difficult to explain, and the more you think about it, the harder it gets.I always settle for what I think will do in my projects, on the rare occasion I actually create something real, I'm not even sure how I did it, or what I was trying to capture. The truth is I have too much self-worth tied up with the idea of being an artist, and it often hampers my ability to make art that isn't pretentious or wide of the mark. I would have stopped ages ago if it weren't for the fact that sometimes I catch myself off-guard and write something that reminds me of being a child, where I learned and created for the pleasure of doing so, rather than some mythological perception of myself as an artist. These are some of the only self-aware moments you can have, when you somehow escape from the story going on in your head of who you are and you just get on with it, you surprise yourself. Why is that so hard to maintain as you get olderg?

    ...Created 2015-07-30 20:40:58

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    ...Created 2015-05-04 12:15:59

    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
    It means a lot to them, as it does to you.

    Tartarus written by endlessgame23
    i've missed written by mysalvation
    Life is moments written by Ramneet
    Supernatural Cowboy Sleuth (4) written by endlessgame23
    phantom limbs written by expiring_touch
    Coversheets written by TheStillSilence
    Supernatural Cowboy Sleuth (2) written by endlessgame23
    Relativity written by poetotoe
    untitled written by ShyOne
    To the Artist written by HisNameIsNoMore
    Delicious Stews written by elephantasia
    The World written by jjd
    Lost Inside the Race written by ForgottenGraves
    To the Devil and Candle written by HisNameIsNoMore
    Things They (Don't) Say written by TheStillSilence
    Supernatural Cowboy Sleuth (5) written by endlessgame23
    Across the bed written by expiring_touch
    Redemption written by poetotoe
    Journey written by endlessgame23
    I, Plutarch written by HisNameIsNoMore
    winners circle written by ShyOne
    Shi written by ShyOne
    The Poems Death written by Mepoduo
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    Birds of a Feather written by poetotoe
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    mimicry written by expiring_touch
    The Unicorn written by BlazeFlamme
    Love written by saartha
    Vortex: The Imagination That Is written by KeeperOfLight

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    January 10 07
    131,497 Poems
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