rooms for rent

Inspired by richieb's poem "Look up to the Sky, Jack Kerouac"

rooms for rent

 

 

 

any of the old Beats who are left

have nose hairs stretching to the page

and arthritic poetic fingers

pushing the century mark

they read old poems left in their attic minds

 

trying from memory,

but failing to find sense of the words they cared so much about

when a time was that some actually listened,

 

now everyone just talks and rants 

and promotes his or her own wounds

bleeding profusely from the mouth

or the page,

 

but no one reads anymore

they just drive past the nursing homes

riddled with disinterest

spilling sonnet sodas on concrete hearts

 

devastation in numbers

young poets write graffiti prose

against a wind of change

 

sniffing at the breeze, 

trying to imagine

how the Beats ever found

any rhythm at all....

 

 

 

 

erin-cilberto

11/27/16

Reviews

[Norman 223]

Since there is little "rhythm" in modern living, the decline in the "language" of poetry is a reflection of the decline of meaningful vocabulary. Texting, soundbites and garbled advertising slogans appear to have overshadowed perceptions of semantic quality.
Your poem makes me even more aware of these changes, Jacob.
N.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

oh it's awful, Norman...the language is being shredded....thank you for your words,
j.

[Cryingkate]

My Overview thoughts on this leads me to see a seasoned mature writer.
In comparison of a room as his view he is disappointed at his younger,fellow writers in the house.
They seem not to truly respect or care about the Art of writing, nor it's purpose. They instead seem to use it foolishly and selfishly for their own self indulgence or in an emotional needy way.
I observe the dis-hearted seasoned writers heart hardening as he is abandoned to his lonely room left with no one in his league to read from ,nor be heard. Then I feel a jolt from the last words describing The cluelessness that surrounds him.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i really appreciate this perspective...thank you for your words connie...
j.

[Raylene]

Your writing really makes me think which I love. I like how every artist has their way in this which is true no one is the same. Some write yet can not sing their art that's why the world need creative types of all times cause without them there would be no love or laughter the color of life would be gone well done

[jacob erin-cilberto]

yes, it would, Raylene...it would be and might be gone in future.

thank you,

j.

[Raylene]

My pleasure :)

[Jon Roggie]

Each person finds their own way. Nice one jacob.
Jon.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, Jon...appreciate your words.

j.

[...]

I love how you furnish your rooms with deep seated couches and plenty of light, Jacob...

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your kind words, lynn.
j.

[Jimmy Yetts]

Precious little time left; apparently, the Beats and other quickly-growing-obsolete poets would--instead of listening to the strange music of young whippersnappers--rather blare out the last of their own familiar tunes.
Sounding that final trump, as it were.
Profoundly perceptive piece, Jacob!

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your insightful words, Jimmy.

j.

[Ted Kniffen]

The title caught my eye right off the bat. One of my favourite books of poetry is "Rooms for Rent in the Outer Planets" by Al Purdy.

I'm afraid the first verse hits close to home, although I'm not quite from that era.

Hard for today's youth to compete with Kerouac or Ginsberg when you have a 15 second attention span and write with your thumbs.

Too bad that so much is being left unread.
Good write, j.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

yes it is too bad....thank you for your insightful words, Ted,
j.

[Daydreamer]

I'm inspired, thank you for resurrecting me.
Even if these words are fleeting.. I felt every line.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you Daydreamer...

j.

[Beccy]

It isn't just poetry, is it. This is increasingly a soundbite world and for all the technical achievement, (actually, primarily because of it,) so many have become increasingly insulated against anything other than their own ever narrowing material focus.

I have loved poetry from the very first moment I could read; and until perhaps half a century ago, poetry was simply an ancient, ever renewing art form that would endure to the very end of time.

Now though dear jacob, I am in fear that what you have just written is as much a prophesy as a poem.

Beccy.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

and i hope we don't lose it altogether...we need it...thank you for your words, Beccy,

j.

[barleygirl]

This is more like a story than a poem. Very powerful message here, much more direct than you usually are in your writing. I was also very moved by RichieB's poem, so I can see how you would've expressed this response in a more urgent, straightforward way. I remember when we were always so eager to share our thoughts & ideas, wanting to be understood, etc. Nowadays, everyone is spewing & nobody is listening, so it feels futile to try to be understood anymore. I totally get that point, deep down, spot-on, you killed it (((HUGS)))

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your kind words and sharing...barleygirl...

j.