some say it's dust...but i know better

A Poem by Steeven

what

schematics

estimates of love

like gallons of paint to cover a room

systematic balance might be desired

to coat the ambiance of your

skin, i so desire?

no matter the multitude of blinks

you gave your eyes to me

all their life-crinkles

...time wrinkles...

too much Aldous and prisms paint and brush

when now nearest touch

is farthest from me

no there is no time is there?

i could answer but my pretence of -pre-occupied-

would fall like hyroglyphics

as our picyune cellular attempts

end in

open-ended texts.

we try

as we both see fit.

my fmily

missing beginning

know youknow vowels...

keeps it tight circle

vows under drapes

...except the fact i lost my temper

but you don't want to kn

don't.

just fudge and sea

same county...

a grass eating contest

bet the wrong goat,

for as many flowers as Wordsworth wrote...

i sing the symphany

of nectar and honey.

© 2013 Steeven

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Reviews

waif

Underneath it all this feels like a face off between romanticism (or thereabouts) and postmodernism. Like the speaker is overwhelmed by Wordsworth's flowers and Emerson's talk of the soul when he thinks of _______, but there's this world we live in where there is no meaning, no time, no soul and art's purpose is to demonstrate that. There's this sense of something shouting under the emptiness - or that call to emptiness that modern life can take on; that need to show as little interest, share as little of the self as possible.

Of course, I could be reaching. But, I like that I can see those things in the poem. It's got depths that are there if we wish to mine them but it can also be read pretty straight and be quite enjoyable.

This bit:

a grass eating contest
bet the wrong goat,

for as many flowers as Wordsworth wrote...

yep, love it.

Posted 11 Years Ago

11 Years Ago

well, yes cryptic, there is a duel over romanticism and modernism, as i do/fall victim to, often. bu.. read more

~ this symphony of sim cards and cellular pauses punctuated with open-ended texts is very perplexing... but words are better than silence... else no one would ever write any poetry... least of all (poetry) triggered by other words... those that were uttered as well as those that weren't...

~ i'm as intrigued by this business of measuring love as you are but you said it brilliantly... love is about painting the town red... and who can say how much red paint that would take... not me, not me... :P

~ there is time... but so many people waste it... on so-called "constructive activities" which are nothing but distractions... and pain-giving pursuits... that lead to the birth of terrible delusions... ah... human beings can be so inexplicable when they are in a self-imposed stupor... ~ i fear myself when i become too sure about what i'm doing... i can smell a delusion in the vicinity the moment it tries to barge into my universe...

~ yes... we try... sometimes with no sense of precisely what we're trying to do... but we do try... even if we end up doing nothing... so true...

~ temper... hmmm... not one of my favourite subjects... i used to be an ill-tempered brat who hated being an ill-tempered brat... some people did not forgive me... i forgave them... and when i did... i realized they're bigger ill-tempered brats than i could be even if i was a professional ill-tempered brat...

~ a grass-eating contest can't be fun... ~ a painting-the-town-red contest can be fun especially if winners are decided based on how intensely they love...

~ God bless Wordsworth's soul... he did love daffodils... and i loved the daffodils he loved... so...

~ i like your spelling of "symphany"... mine is "simfunny"...

~ i apologize for all incorrect observations and interpretations... i think my new binoculars are to blame... :P