Hey, I'm a songwriter but I recently decided to try my hand at poetry. Here are a couple of my first attempts. The biggest problem for me at the moment is looking at what I've done and evaluating honestly what works and what doesn't--it's much easier with songs. Any comments or criticism is welcome, thanks. Poem #48 - Under Social Construct Dulled senses make for horrible account they say Best to contact a professional and get it done rite Cement mixed too dry to begin with has turned hard, cold, apparently unmoveable, yet still brittle to touch Imagining a late night rendevoux on a rooftop built by revolutionaries Greater than us in all ways except one Imagining headaches skittering, etched without a pattern A natural way For two brains to meet To be astounded by the skyscraper heights of understanding Astounded again when illusion dissolves To a house of cards Shuffled then reshuffled Paper edges soft and worn And by the end of the night, quietly returned to the spiderweb bookshelf It comes more naturally than the stars at night Or a rock down a hill Or rust from a faucet Best to nod politely at the hardhat working to repair the brain cable, jumping and cracking Ready to blow at any moment Probably best just to not complain much in the first place Under social construct is where I lie. Poem #47 - The Monkey and the Sad Flowers Fireworks How they light up the sky Another 4th of July Is passing us by ... Slower than the lights, the sound of the explosion booms and shakes the hollows of our chest Vibrations crawl up our spinal column and we are frozen stiff when once again we are reminded The monkey and the sad flowers The circular pocket watch and the microscopic stars in the empty summer sky Vibrations settle and our thoughts are eased gently Back to wonder and amazement The scent of deep dirt in our nostrils is replaced by gunpowder So the chamber revolves in our majestic theater Pinks and cyans dance above us Built for our enjoyment For this moment and only this moment If you don't believe me, try this-- Hold an M80 in your hand too long and see what happens So the chamber revolves We cheer because we lack the insight to find the tiny bursts dull or ugly or even sometimes dangerous Casted arms light the next big batch, though much too close to delight the way we do Because they live in the muck Down among the monkeys and the sad flowers Where we only sometimes vacation on holidays
