Despite What I Say…

21 Feb

i have a big mouth….i know this and i am prone to saying things in the height of passion, stupidity, sudden unconsciousness and a combination thereof. every couple of weeks the topic of rhythmic poetry comes up, either in the blogs on rob & jack america, the worlds greatest, most overrated radio show ever. on nearly every occasion i take the stance of, rhythmic poetry has no place, blah, blah, blah…of course this is just a singular opinion of a vastly under educated overweight middle-aged tweaker junkie sex addict (or something).

during the course of my MFA curriculum i partake in various “exercises” that develop an understanding or appreciate of other styles. needless to say i am not very good at it, primarily due to my own arrogance and inability to change (see description of writer in paragraph above). not that i approach them half-heartedly, it’s that i don’t have the mental focus to alter my own reality, at least for an academic function.

despite what i say i do write rhythmic poetry. it’s not a primary endeavor, i don’t focus on it, but it happens. the piece below is based off of a poet that was born at the end of the Civil War and died just before the start of WWII. it may or may not be successful, and i am more than willing to admit my own weakness (i have a thousand others that really shouldn’t be discussed in a semi-public forum)…

for what it is worth….

upon the climb of a forking road

i walk through garden hazelwood
where grass and dreams collide,
and rest upon a fearful stone
as little starling’s sigh.
a breezing flight of wipporwills
stumble between the trees
and amber blankets climbing hills
it’s a whisper i soon believe.

and sudden i watch, with sweet delight
a garden gnome atop the trail.
he dances like rhuemy goat,
with steps that never fail.
he looked at me with silver eyes,
ablaze with life and mirth,
and offered me a settling
with songs i’ve never heard.

O light of sky, sweet refrain,
a chorus of limb and love.
he trips upon a garnished rock,
and crumbles like a dove.
i take a step, he jumps right up
spins and spins away
my breath is lost on glinting wind,
there’s little left to say.

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