'WHY poetry?'– two bad answers to a sensible question.
Poetry- the palliative cure for an unknown disease; we treat every symptom as it turns up but never truly understand the cause, and never aim to defeat it- we may utilise the solution, but we’re in cahoots with the sickness all along.
You missed that lecture;
“What’s poetry to you?”-
twelve sleepscarred hands
choking plasticked moccas.
We didn’t understand,
though the usual braggarts
had it nailed: poetry
is a vacuum. Poetry
is that sort-of-tingle
in your stomach
that makes us special.
But this is Grabbist,
lands of low-slung hills
and infant remembrance:
boundaries of elm
trawling to the sea;
dipped and yoked
by the adult’s tongue.
12 Dec 2008 17:35
| 
Comments (1)
| 
Report a problem
Loading…
glad you’ve made the quewstion public, despite your lack of rhyme scheme.
also:
sorry to be a pedant, but i think ‘mocca’ should be ‘mocha’- coffee with a bit of chocolate in, oui?
14 Dec 2008, 15:44
Add a comment
You are not allowed to comment on this entry as it has restricted commenting permissions.