Friday, December 7, 2007

I Want to Write a Book of Poetry

Always wanted to be one of those people out of whom poetry just flowed, but I never could get down that rhythm that the "urban poets" had on Def Comedy Jam.

Never got good at the depressing poetry either cause I have that guilt complex about being a white middle class male in America. I'm not starving, I'm not insane, and I'm not dead.

I fucking hate the almost-every morning when I wake up and think "wow, I'm not going to enjoy anything I'm going to do today at all". I wish I could be disconnected form that shit that I write all the time in my notebook, but I walk around with an almost constant sense of I-wish-I-were-elsewhere about me.

I put my iPod on random the other day while my mom was watching some show on tv and that mewithoutYou song came on and it felt pretty good hearing that line "one day the water's gonna wash it away" repeated over and over.

I've always been glad at how prolific I can be when I write, but at the same time I wish I could just write some decent poetry. It's so fucking disheartening to read poem after bitching poem on internet forums about such-and-such breakup or someone hanging on a cliff (everyone's on a fucking cliff) or else these worthless poems in some poetry books I bought or (worst of all) those fucking dumbass poems that win poetry contests because they're about "love blooming like a flower" or some shit; I don't believe in love or God or anything like that, but that doesn't make pretty poems. I want some fucking militant poetry!

3 comments:

Pid said...

FAO Gordon Brown

Camouflage soiled with crimson
Coz they chose to defend the system
Camouflage sprayed with crimson
Coz they rebelled against the system

Who’s fighting the greater good?
Who should shed the blood?

Who’s right who’s wrong?
Its all been going on to long

Removal of troops
Or heads get loose

Remove the troops quickly
Can your conscience handle another Ken Biggley

Stop fuckin listening to that American prick
Stop being a sidekick
And do your own shit

Poppy fields are none of our business
That’s not why they joined up
And not why they en-listed

Stop taking orders from Uncle Sam
Concentrate on your country
And Palace Buckingham

Our boarders are in danger
But you’d rather defend boarders
Of people who are strangers

Go on man their checkpoints
I’ll cue here behind this terrorist
Using our cash points

You’ve lost control
That’s why these events unfold
But you wont listen
And you wont be told

Is it really worth the price of all this oil?
Seeing your country in strife and turmoil

Like I said before remove the troops as quick as you can
Do as you were asked by Margaret Hassan

Stop fucking around and being complacent
If not for her for the soldier known only as Jason

Lets rewind and go back to our boarders
Anyone can cross and it’s bang out of order

A kid got killed at the end of our road
By an asylum seeker told to go home

He was diving a car with no insurance or tax
What happened to him…. can’t remember the facts
But bet bet im paying for it with my income tax

Why are these people left to roam the streets?
When told in this country no home they can keep?

the american prick comment is not ment in a racist was i just fucking hate bush!

sarita said...

i am sent here so i want to see
wat makes me different wat i can be
for no one here is a bit alike
to prove this to the world
i have been kept alive
there are things dat i have done
things dat have deeply wounded my soul
but does dat change my life into a setting sun
do i have to let the colours fade from y core
i wanna stand up to myself
stand up to the world
coz there are things which only i could do
i could be the one to take the world out of the blues
i am here with apromise of progress
leaves me with no time for mere regrets
wanna live my life the way i want to
so am gonna start afresh and anew
put aside the tears and rgrets
have to be strong
coz am not here to fret

sarita said...

its yet another beggining
a hope to start off
helping my soul regain its vitality
walk on breathing the air of reality
i dream of flyin far
but strength is still to be attained
crossing the grief
hurdles to be faced
razed and jaded
but still feel the life running through
still not dead
because hope dwells
survived for good
and yet another begining
nonchalantly viewing the heaven