Definedly Poetic

 

Poetry is the message, not the way it gets conveyed (SNIFF)

Do NOT make it your own (SNORT)

It’s not about saying it in a new way (HICCUP)

It’s all about a message delivered lyrically (BURP/BELCH)

Poetry is NOT about emotions recollected in tranquility (FART)

Poetry is not about pushing the boundaries of language (YAWN)

Nor is it spasmodic unburdening (AHHCHOO!)

Poetry has no militant agenda (GRUNT)

and Poetry is not about your prosaic observations (SIGH)

 

LET’S GET THAT  STRAIGHT

 

 

 

Oh yeah – almost forgot:

PROMPT #10: a hay(na)ku consists of a three-line stanza,
where the first line has one word, the second line has two words,
and the third line has three words.

Poetry
Rendered incoherent:
 godless postmodern sensibilities

Paths to Pathos

 

Poets:  a pathetic lot—

Who sing, off-key, of their own refusing.

On a quest for what is not,

Entranced with their own maudlin musing

In that zone where life gets buffered

As the pages load; confusing

Pain with what their souls have suffered:

Lyric bombs for your defusing.

 


 

write a self-portrait poem in which you make a specific action a metaphor for your life –
one that typically isn’t done all that often, or only in specific circumstances.
For example, bowling, or shopping for socks, or shoveling snow, or teaching a child to tie its shoes.

Three Poems

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Supremacy

 

Race race race and then some more about race . . .

  (As if we cared that much about your face.)

   God bestows His beauty in diverse hues.

   You’ll never learn this lesson from fake news.

Be a grateful citizen of His grace.

 

 

Nature of the Enemy

 

Cadaver animated by Marxism

Corpse possessed by militancy

Dead body filled with resentment

Zombie legions stirred by revolution

Mortuaries quickened by Dialectical Materialism

Necropolises of confrontation

Armies of dysfunctional ignorance

 

 

Surly Aliens

No! you won’t ‘eed nothin’ else
But them spicy garlic smells,
An’ the sunshine an’ the palm-trees an’ the tinkly temple-bells;
On the road to Mandalay . . .  
(R. Kipling)

Sullen she sits
in her shimmering fabric
scowling at her adoptive nation.
Listlessly scrolling
for soap-opera news
in her language.
Half-hidden behind the register
where she sells something every few hours
to someone from her country
purchasing those weird snacks:
dried minnows with mango,
fish with curried betel-nut,
tamarind-flavored shrimp . . .

Hey lady, you look funny
with that white paste
smeared all over your face.
You look like a ghost.
Did Buddha make you put it on?

Hey lady, don’t you know how to smile
and serve the public?
Maybe you should learn English.

Why did you come here, anyway?

Why My Poetry Sucks

The Internet is a strange and fickle thing.

I pride myself on not being swayed by social media. I do not Twitter, Facebook, nor do I Instagram or use any other similar media. It’s pretty much WordPress, Hello Poetry, and one more poetry site that eat up my time online, along with YouTube of course.

Last Saturday and also on Monday, my blog had more views than usual.
During April, it is usually like that due to National Poetry Month.
I was happy, in a silly stats-driven cybernetic way.
(They say dopamine levels go up with Social Media stats and I believe it).

But I have also noticed that lots of views on one day can give the illusion that people are actually reading poetry blogs. Then yesterday I posted what I believe to be one of my better poems, which I worked on and edited extensively. I posted it earlier in the day than normal, thinking there would be more time for it to get read, and I checked the stats like a maniac . . . to be rewarded with SEVEN views all day, ha ha ha .

Have you ever wondered about blogs showcasing what seems to YOU to be vapid, superficial and carelessly-written poetry receiving hundreds of “likes” while others that display masterful use of wordcraft barely get read?

What does this poetic philosopher have to say to us on the topic?