Did I say, "nailed by meaning?" Sometimes your lines suck my lungs dry, replacing my oxygen with amniotic, fluidic meaning, sustaining me more than I knew I needed.
sucked dry
Tag: micropoetry
We ran
We ran--
hoping, loping, leaping--
grieving--
up Happiness Ridge.
Its summit proved small,
merely step one of many.
nailed
Sometimes, poetry is not good, rejuvenating long-dead memories when one graded The Poetry Assignment as written by thirteen-year-olds. Sometimes, the poet shoots invisible needles of meaning, millions of them, ripping, zipping through me, nailing me to where I sit.
[once again grabbed by the poetry of James G. Piatt as featured on Ephemeral Elegies]
the poet upon reading poems written by those who follow his
"I am humblified beyond audaciousness,
Transquilified through personal capacity
To mentify I had talent."
American sentence #2
Glass half empty? NO! It’s upside down! Turn it over. It’s full to the brim!
My first American sentence*
Raven-black part of my consciousness
Why are you there?
Oh, yeah. You’re me.
I was reminded today of Allen Ginsberg’s definition of an American sentence as English’s answer to the haiku. I’m stealing most of this from another blogger. And here is another bit of definition. Ginsberg felt English needed more freedom to achieve what the haiku accomplishes with its 5/7/5 structure. To write one, use 17 syllables in a grammatically correct sentence (or sentences). One full line, arranged if you like (as I’ve done above). In my opinion, one should attempt the juxtaposed twist in meaning at the end as one reads in a traditional haiku. (Is my photograph a visual twist? “Raven” becomes “crow”?)
Painting air
One way to art: hide all your insides; spin a lacquered ball of beauty around mundane air inside. Another way: paint the air.
all the voices in my head 