On Saying what you feel freely

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Let’s not try to define ‘Poetry’

I have been self-indulgent
With the most transient of art-forms
Not music, but poetry
Embracing imagery so light and immediate
As to be considered a kind of jazz

On the beat of the unfinished work
Of moons, on the anonymous audience
That is everywhere and nowhere
Let me ready you some of my
Poetry, it’s just the sign of the whispers

That took me to another level
The comedy of being myself and learning
To be other than what I once was
Most people ignore poetry
Because it doesn’t live in their chords

They don’t have inner guitars
In the heart-chakra, that fit
Upon the little words they use
In the days, in-between their thoughts
I think poetry always lives

In-between people, in the energy
That they release when they
Come into contact with each other
Nobody ever tells us what to read
Poetry’s always dead you know

Reading it is like getting ready to die
And looking at all we have done
And said in retrospect, like a ritual
Of how we summarize meaning.

6 thoughts on “On Saying what you feel freely

      • “nailed” my bad, I meant you “nailed the jello to the wall!” Maybe you can go in and edit that post? I dunno? I meant it as a compliment. It’s a tremendous feat to nail jello to a wall. So sorry Bro. I messed that one up.

  1. This is beautiful and feels so powerful … yet graceful at the same time. I like the imagery of poetry living in the little nooks and crannies of everyday life.

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