With Gusto

Hello. I am here.

It's strange. Last semester I was the drunk poet. I took pleasure in pleasure and wrote poetry about it. But no more. Today I woke up and realised that I have never known anything about poetry, and that includes writing it. Suddenly my acquired understanding is gone. Even the voice in this entry is stilted and slightly academic. Hardly the markings of a poet.
I will try:

The snow, the snow!
brushes my roof clean
with winter sand
Has an attitude, like a mother-in-law's
step-father

That is not trying! Fool. Ether-wank. Ether-wank on the ether-page.

The snow fills in the space
between my neighbors
and my bed. The empty spaces normally occupied
by air are dusted with volume
and my neighbors seem far off
and alone, away from me
no longer a spectacle

Well I guess that's a little better. I've been feeling so alienated lately, and alienated poetry is not cool. Fiction is better for that. We'll see. Maybe I should buy a big bottle of redwine and smoke. That usually puts me in the mood for poetry. Maybe I need to stop reading "A Quiet Room", the poetry of Zen Master Jakushitsu. All of his "Green mountains" and "wind in the pines" are starting to feel too much like Red China.

Next Poem

I'ma gonna barf!

Hey, Travis, I've never liked
you, so hold still, because I'm going
to barf. Don't run off, like Suzy or Jeff.
Yes, they got away, but not without some of it
on their shoes. Hold on Travis. Hold yourself
right where you are.

I'm going to teach some Raymond Carver to D. today. But right now I need to drink my coffee and start my day. It's snowing here. There are about 5 inches on the ground, and I hope the rain comes soon to wash it all away.

Hello Ryan. This will make your click worthwhile.

Posted by matty-b at January 6, 2004 10:37 AM