Spinning in the Confetti of Constant Creativity

An attempt to be philiosophical

 

Singing is wrong

speaking is foolish once the world creates

and levers away from the depth of concern.

 

Writing is strong

but ultimately useless when the light relates

to the crest of landscapes we can only just discern

 

In our imaginary

ticked paintings is the single dimension of lives

that sticks only to a personal charm

 

Drawing is our tragedy

that strokes longingly the lost impasto of walls

covered obliquely with the changes that sweep all around us

 

Sucking the marrow pith

from the barest bones of personal cells

that chime only in churches when depression switches

 

Carving the joints smoked

that stoke the fires of whatever hell lightening strikes

we choose when to chill us

 

Dancing we deranged sing

around and around in the spinning devils dervish

of what we call our substances richness

 

 

 

Author's Note

Welcome anything

Reviews

[SM Davis]

Dancing we deranged sing
around and around in the spinning devils dervish
of what we call our substances richness

spinning....yes. This has a circular motion to it...but the substance of this is rich...beyond rich...it is telling. Fear can make us spin, and so can being out of control due to no responsibility of our own....I loved this.

[R J Askew]

I like the title best. The image in the title bosses everything else in the poem. Once the image of the confetti is active it excludes the rest, or it did for me.

[holly]

The first two stanzas remind me, in form and tone if not in content, of Rilke's Sonnets to Orpheus, especially the fourth one in Part 2. In fact, the whole poem has a Rilkean flavor which isn't too surprising since he spent a lot of words wrestling with his muse (his word, not mine). In a way, this poem was like coming home since I cut my teeth on his inner rhymes and voluptuous images. And then the content:
the poet decides that art is the passion of Narcissus. I agree with you on that but there's the selfish desire to create something outside of ourselves and then there's the self-indulgent desire to display ourselves and
be accepted. I think you realize that whatever substance we draw from ourselves and selfishly give away IS richness. This, BTW, is not criticism of the poem. Just hope that you don't decide to stop singing becuase it is "wrong".

[SPINNING ON that dizzy ..]

We are but mere mortals and never quite know what path something will take us. To do things for a specific outcome and then find ourselves along a much different path - or a different end result - ahhh life does that.
Me, I'd always rather be Spinning...... haha

Kath

[emmajoy]

I don't agree!

Although I truly understand your thoughts or created poetic thoughts, I believe that we're made to re-create what we FEEL and EXPERIENCE about us. To look and not see, to hear but not listen etc. is a nullifying of the senses. Does that make sense, I don't have your gift of words.

Guess I should go back to reviewing... or, can I ?!

'Writing is strong
but ultimately useless when the light relates
to the crest of landscapes we can only just discern'

So imagining what's further way is meaningless? Why do we have the capacity to imagine, is it only substitute for reality?

'Dancing we deranged sing
around and around in the spinning devils dervish
of what we call our substances richness'

Hmmmm? Explain, please

I've made a real mess of this reviewing... your words have set me thinking of the intended or unintended substance

[Emily B]

If only we could fly

soar

then we wouldn't have to compensate

with singing and dancing and drawing and writing.