Ramble: My Horrible Poetry

Yesterday’s poem was apparently horrible. Awful. A stink of words gone bad. To those that let me know how truly sucky my sucktatstic poem really was – thank you I appreciate your thoughtful feedback. My apologies for not meeting your expectations. I will keep your critiques of my cadence and pacing in mind as I create other poems for your enjoyment.

Now don’t take that to mean I will actually write poems that you will enjoy – because truthfully you will not enjoy them. Not all poems must rhyme. Not all poems are lyric. Not all poems are about real things said in ways real people might say them. Some poetry is an attempt at using words like colours on a canvas. The words are not meant to have meaning; the words are not meant to mean what you have been taught they mean. Indeed when I use a word it means exactly what I want it to mean.

When I use a word,’ Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, ‘it means just what I choose it to mean — neither more nor less.’
‘The question is,’ said Alice, ‘whether you can make words mean so many different things.’
‘The question is,’ said Humpty Dumpty, ‘which is to be master — that’s all.’


In this case the entire point of that last poem was simply a really bad pun that would not leave me alone. It rattled in my brain for a day and a half of silliness and distraction before I finally pinned it to the keyboard and made it squeal. That last poem is funny. Even hilarious in a ribald sort of way. To me.

Apparently I write this stuff for free – and ya know caveat emptor when I carpe diem my quid pro quo.

quod erat demonstrandum via reductio ad absurdum.

Fini et exeunt omnes.


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Poem: Filthy Shades of Grey

stars explode
scattering secrets
of life
the universe
stellar granules
floating coalesce
spreading sparking
integration from
bright disintegration
fine disks of
infinite accretion
bond by weak attraction
yielding to gravity
falling into
one another
ever growing
collapsing together
into new patterns
new orbits
new cycles
new bits and pieces
and every where
layers of star dust
dancing in sunlight
sparkling by moonlight
settling in thin layers
hiding my past in
filthy shades of grey.

Poem: eMPTY

there is nothing


only i

which in fact
makes it less

than nothing.

Poem: Wasted

i am aimless and misguided
a tattered map without a star
all crumbled bright and broken
in the gutter by the walkway
slowly tumbling with the wind.

Poem: Tickled to Death

another moment gone
time is moving on
is this all we have?
flooding this space
with monotonous sound?
tick Read the rest of this entry »


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