Complete Randomness -2004-
It was a dark, rainy night, and I awoke in a fright.
From my horse I suddenly fell, when a witch cast her spell.
Under this spell I broke the Law, an act the Authorities actually saw.
While in jail I heard someone mutter, the same words the witch did utter.
“Ee nee, me nee, my nee, moe; in this potion, dwarfs will go.
The great Passion of tiny men will give me power now and then.”
Hearing those words, I yelled a curse; but had no other rhyme for this here verse.
We had come upon the final hour of the Earth’s greatest power.
From the Heavens HE came down, HE was the world’s greatest Clown.
And with him came a man named Sin, to usher new gifts and favors in.
But Heaven’s great and wonderful gift only helped lead people adrift.
The witch and I then came together, hiding from inclement weather.
It took me a month to find, the witch and I were of one mind.
We both wanted rid of pride, and the hungry masses beside.
Then we both did conspire, to scourge the Earth with a fire.
Yet it was that great plan; that lead me to a Pimp named Dan.
It was Dan who said to me, “Do not worry, this cannot be.
“Everything here is but a theme, in your elaborate, twisted dream.
“With the battle won, it’s over; now go home to your dog, Rover.”
With his words I opened my eyes, went into my kitchen and ate two pies.
Then put my hat upon my head; went to the workbench in my shed.
From that spot I now tell, of escaping the depths of Hell.
It is my job and fame, to tell the story of my shame.
Of how I triumphed over strife, all while losing my dear wife.
A woman more beautiful than a rose and far more elegant than my prose.
If I lie let it be known, it’s neither my purpose nor my tone.
So here now is the dilemma of my wife, let’s call her Emma.
Life with her was not ideal, but my friend says that’s real.
I caught her there in our bed, with our neighbor, whose name is Ned.
Looking backwards, I’m left to guessing; the sort of feeling I was expressing.
It did take quite a master, to overcome this great disaster.
Love and trust was now broken, along with oaths of lovers spoken.
All that’s left is the sound, of the emptiness around.
Many things I did for her, yet it’s Ned she does prefer.
Should I let her go tonight, and walk out into morning’s light?
Should I forget about my past and run from here really fast?
These are the questions I leave to you, while I await the morning dew.
All I fear is life alone and the prospect of the unknown.
For this is my story and my plight, in Complete Randomness I do all right.
With my poetry I do struggle, and in my bed I try to snuggle,
Up close and personal with my dogs. In the great machine we are all clogs,
Designed to complete just one task, a job so meaningless we are afraid to ask,
Exactly what it is we do. Yet in this life we are but new.
And new to life we come and go, like the winter and her snow.
It is all that we can handle, judging by the light of a candle,
All that’s left is Randomness, Complete and total is our helplessness.
So this poem is all but done, of my favorites this is one.
I hope you have enjoyed the show, but away you must now go,
For I have cannot keep things waiting and my fishhook needs re-baiting.
But for one more rhyme, I dedicate a little more time.
Something like this is how it goes, and the end no one yet knows.
Like all things in life and in science, upon nature, rests this verse’s reliance.
Least we forget our true calling, and from this height find ourselves falling.
Complete Randomness is all there can be, for all law is void where one cannot see.
| This is very imaginative. It's fun to read with lots of different images and ideas. You seem to be enjoying writing this, which is a good thing. |
"All I fear is life alone and the prospect of the unknown."
This seems a universal type of experience. But rather than running from the unknown, the poet seems to meet it head-on. Taking stream of conciousness ideas ansd not filtering them through many constraints...rhyme at times, seeming random numbers of lines. The use of "Complete Randomness"to identify where or how this originates, among other things.
The reader feels compelled to think because the ideas originate not on objective ior visible reality as much as the poets mind itself.
Most people seem to focus differently. Most hesitation is fear.
I don't know why people can't be a little more open-minded. Or at leaset when they don't feel comfortable responding, or for whatever other reason all 60 of your readers didn't respond (Did I get that right?) they could at least say why the f not, IMO.
Write your truth and don't let sheep-mentality types bother you.
|| Posted on 2006-08-06 00:00:00 | by azure_warrior | [ Reply to This ] |