I mean, I came here looking for discussion of my poetry (without, of course, having to read anyone else's). And what do I get??? Not one post about me, but a bunch of stuff about whether Human and Briseis are on the same wavelength...

Arrrrrrrgggggghhhh.

Thread killers!
Threadocides!

(just kidding. Please, continue.)

Just kidding. I, too, can see other people's point of view, but while this, in you, seems to have engendered an increase respect for them, mine has pretty much created an intense hatred of the whole thing. I'm wrong almost all the time, other people are wrong almost all the time, hell, we're all probably wrong almost all the time, so why the **** should I put up with other people's poitns of view if they aren't internally consistent? In a discussion, I thus do my utmost to demolish opposing points of view, unless I respect the person voicing them are are fond of them.'Tis all.

quote:

---

I never knew there were other people out there who don't share my personality

---

Pere, that's one of the funniest things I've read on Hatrack in months!!!

Good one!!!

Yes, they've told me.
They all have told me,
that i'm a little weird.

When i do,
what i do
I ask what they fear?

I'm not right?
I feel alright.
This has gone on so long.

Time has told me,
answers for me.
Too insecure for a song.

Yes, they've told me.
They all have told me,
that i'm a little weird.

I wrote it this summer, when I was doing a German course. An impression on the dormitory.

Klaustrophobie

ich schliesse die zimmertuer hinter mir
die welt lass ich draussen
alleine in der leeren kabine des weltraumschiffs
geometrische figuren ohne phantasie
stammen aus dem dreissigsten jahrhundert
voellig unangebracht fuer ein junges maedchen
in ihrer sturm- und drangzeit
mit ersten lieben ersten trennungen

weisser kalter steriler raum
-der krankensaal wird die romantik heilen

Poetry, it seems to me
Is abuse of the “Enter” key
The subject artificially
Ripped from its closing verb

Why cannot the poet see
The ideas of her poetry
Are conveyed more effectively
In plain, prosaic words?

All the poems of history
Are nothing more, essentially
Than op-ed columns cleverly
Disguised as pretty verse

Let us tell it as we see
Eschew nebulosity
Without its crutch, can poetry
Speak to our best and worst?

Feelings expressed honestly
Without tearjerking homily
Or punctuative trickery
To clothe the writer’s soul

I suppose it’s not to be
If poets deigned to write plainly
Then all the world could clearly see
The breaking of the poet’s spell

You seek to touch what you must taste,
want to grasp and pinch for ripeness.
You measure out in teaspoons
the pinches, the handfuls,
the seasons.

You pull a net across the sky,
and wonder why the wind keeps blowing.

It rhymes when it's time;
it finds order in chaos
and breaks
where it must
because prose ain't all
it's cracked
up to
be.

You dig?
Deeper.

Comments? Criticism?

I can but wonder what is amiss
AH! There it is!
An Ass To Kiss

-----

soundbyte

poetry is a lot like advertising
if they remember it well
well they remember it

sex moves so
watch every head turn to watch
and somewhere behind the calvin klein
cummings is saying the exact same thing

Departed from us,
known in no history book.
Like servents to the greats,
only to be overlooked.

Markers in time,
signs of a lost city.
Events march on,
waiting to be used when ready.

If I had a dollar for each time I thought of you.

If I had a dollar for each moment I wished we were two.

Oh if I had a nickle for each time I wish'd I had you on my motor-sickle.

Well, baby, I'd have Two dollars and thirty-five cents.

your gun.
it speaks
focus (attraction)

fascination. (rubber soles
good for marble floors.)

don’t. pull.

remember (in/grab the cash/out).
moving parts cleaned oiled (in/out)
in. out.
lovingly in dark, no
precision/timing/concerns.

damp. (they’ll find you there)
no.
don’t think.
they’ll accept/ what it says.
not friends/but respect.

don’t (speak).