Forget the Politics. What Do Ya Do With The Poem?

in Sundries
What me worry about a dysfunctional, fact free, and dangerously fractional government, when after two decades of poemin’, I haven’t resolved how best to post ‘em. Poems.

Now given the bigger picture of a self proclaimed and shameless advocate of capitalistic creative destruction, who just so happens to carry around the keys to the end of the world in his outsize ties, I realize how tiny the need to theme my poetry, in the scheme of all things, be. But.

In my view, a poem is The Schrödinger’s Cat of a literary critter, and bitter I be at just how hard it is to capture a poem in it’s natural habitat. And that initial look see… often determines, if the poem, to the reader, renders dead or alive.

And besides, I also prose, and that being the tip top of the text food chain, bottom lines and necessarily feeds my approach on how best to serve the verse.

Verily, I have tried many ways. And all result in an aftertaste of haste and a hectic kitchen appetizer. So, here I shy an aperitif, for the digestif.


Another Bad Poem

Front Porch Catapult

my view through
tree branch folio
shape shades the moon
to an arrowhead arcing

some tempting target
in light year removed
a bullseye that I’m
blind to

my view through
tree branch folio
will wither with winter
that arrow will atrophy
that arc just a remark
of summer

I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.

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