I drink the water, thinking that there's gin
Inside the cup; my mind says gin, but I
Know better. Now it's gone -- could I begin
To write - to think - 11:35
AM, and it's still gone, awash in half-
Rhyme fall'n in verse, the housebound meter halting --
Barefoot, peeling skin, and choking riff-raff --
Devoid again - I fill it. Here, exalting,
My spare inverse competes - his gentle dream,
Athwart a fluid ode-scape, shapes a jazz
Concerto foundering on the unhemmed seam
Between "what is" and "what could be"; whereas
This bare container spills --11:40
AM -- damn Keats! and damn this faithless sortie.
Inside the cup; my mind says gin, but I
Know better. Now it's gone -- could I begin
To write - to think - 11:35
AM, and it's still gone, awash in half-
Rhyme fall'n in verse, the housebound meter halting --
Barefoot, peeling skin, and choking riff-raff --
Devoid again - I fill it. Here, exalting,
My spare inverse competes - his gentle dream,
Athwart a fluid ode-scape, shapes a jazz
Concerto foundering on the unhemmed seam
Between "what is" and "what could be"; whereas
This bare container spills --11:40
AM -- damn Keats! and damn this faithless sortie.
1 comment:
La, modern poetry seems, indeed! The blank page beckons the artist tauntingly, haunting his creative abilities as the mind promises pleasure and reality abominably fails to deliver. Very interesting drama haltingly proceeding.
This experimentation with the form is yielding some curious pieces.
Excellent imagery expressing the barren,fruitless condition, stuck indoors, sans shoes (ie ill-prepared for any venture), choking on the agua which the mind had promised was a tonic, that first shield (skin) damaged, finally tackling Keats' elevated plain in desperate hopes of relief, yet concluding all at a loss.
Ah, the challenge baldly stares the player in the face, daunting and almost, but not exactly insurmountable, as this attempts to prove.
Lovely after a fashion, and thought-provoking.
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