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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: The Columbia School of Poetrydots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: rws
    ASL Info:    57/m/ohio
    Elite Ratio:    8 - 2777/1297/258
    Words: 570
    Class/Type: Prose/Misc
    Total Views: 664
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 3900



    Description:
       ~MFAgent orange - this si what happens when the conversation spirals into poetry~


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsThe Columbia School of Poetrydots
    -------------------------------------------


    The Columbia School of Poetry

    Fly me to the moon
    As I fall down a flight of stairs
    Wrapping angels round my wounds
    Because they leave such pretty scars

    While my soul clings to paper girls
    In all their lovely, tartish glee
    Crowned with luscious silky words
    Of impotent fidelity

    …or something like that…

    Well?

    Interesting flavor. But I prefer “Tattooed Nudes” or I Am an Antiquarian.” Those are so beautifully bizarre. Besides, these feel lifted from a dead man’s hands.

    Say what?

    They have the style of some famous deceased dude no one’s read but everyone’s heard of. You know, F.B.L.

    F.B…?

    Forensic buddy list. Influence from beyond the grave. An inevitable intellectual invasion of privacy. It just gets in the gray matter.

    It is what it is and it says what it should.

    I suppose that is everything. More or less. To an extent.

    Or maybe I’m too tired to define how I feel and any drifting thought is so in my sweet spot it’s sugar…even if it’s salt.

    So you record everything and hope some of it is a bit more than nothing? You still peruse the newbies dripping with angst and hope to tame the beast?

    Eh…not all emotive writing is horrible, although some of it reminds me of the drunken fallout the day after a long night of cheap wine and burritos. You know, hugging the throne until it moves you…so to speak. Listen to me…the hypnotist dancing us all to oblivion. Maybe I’m just trying to define…something.

    How so?

    Well…before something has a name it could be anything…so you grasp whatever’s available to fill the vacuum…any superstition, folklore…any – partial print from the Hand of God – fragments, anything. But sometimes the answer isn’t forthcoming and the questions remain after the lips are…still. Life really isn’t simple or complex, it just is. Or so I’ve heard…

    So genius and madness must be Siamese twins…at least for all one of you. That does explain a few things.

    We thank you. Ever have a dark thought?

    A dark thought?

    A dark thought. Simple enough question. An evil synaptic twitch of pleasure?

    Of course. I’m a patron of writers.

    Yeah…but you never elaborate, or write. Well…my dark thought involves taking everyone who expresses dark thoughts, you know – cooking kids or torturing the blind – locking them in a room and feeding them a steady diet of bran flakes laced with arsenic and Ex-Lax. Talk about ‘clean-up on aisle twelve.’ That would definitely purge a world of wannabes of their wannabe-ism.

    There are only two words that might adequately describe that state of mind. The last is ‘sane’ but the first is ‘in.’

    Maybe you should pray. Or at least one of your personalities should. You know, you could always talk to my uncle.


    The minister?

    Yeah…

    The one who anoints children with bourbon or the one who laughs like an old woman spitting up lunch?

    That one.

    It’s Sunday. Even God deserves a day off from all this madness.

    And us.

    And them.

    Later.




    Submitted on 2008-03-05 14:14:58     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      I have long been a fan of Tom Robbins for his rascally wit. I read most of his books and then just stopped for no good reason. But I picked up one at the library the other day and I struggled to get through it.

    What I see in this write is how ego drives the symbols that makes words and if ego is driving, I don't care to read it. I have one and it takes me places I don't want to go. My ego doesn't need to be delighted by how someone else's can drive:derived from root word
    "drivel"

    Now back to Robbins. I think he at one time personified our search for something real in religion. But I swear, God isn't listening to him anymore because he's not a threat, his ideas wouldn't open an envelope, much less someone's mind or heart.

    Why did I interject Mr. Robbins failure here? It is the failure of lit
    anyway. And certainly what you've ranted is a good start. What Alia added is too. But one difference remains, it's funny. And while the egos get to strut we get to laugh at them, but it's sorry laughter and yours has sense and wit in every line.

    I think God is watching you

    Nan
    | Posted on 2008-06-02 00:00:00 | by nansofast | [ Reply to This ]


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