I Am The F*cking Poem /A Work In Progress

Sometimes I think in-strange

 

Sitting here,

7:42 p.m. Monday(?) night.

Lying back in chair,

my feet pressed flatly against

the wall.

A strange day.

A normal day.

 

Anyway,

my eyes lost in

the <space> of

my wallpaper border,

I begin to

lose myself in

place and time.

 

Waves of grandiosity

enter my feet from

the cold-white-walls.

I am a philosopher.

Someone recently

referred to me as

a "Poet".

An honor?  Yes.

Truth?  Probably.

 

But,

this is where the grandiosity kicks in,

I think that term,

when described at me,

isn't fair to actual "Poets",

whatever they are.

In my "sage-like" state,

I feel I have more in common

with poems

than poets.

That,

when lucky,

when able,

when willing,

I just share more of

myself,

piece by piece,

a little or

a lot

at a time,

like pages torn

page by page

from some ancient epic

and read behind

the closed doors

of the eyes

that actually read this stuff.

 

Poems-

have limits and

so do I.

Poets-

have "no limits" as

they see it.

In the

limits of poetry

you can truly get

found and lost

and

bounce round

endlessly.

 

The infinite,

somehow,

stuck in the finite.

I'd rather be that.

Yeah,

I am

the poem.

Reviews

[Heretic]

I received a read request for this a while ago and I'm sorry that I didn't read it sooner. I love the comparison between a poem and poet and between you and a poem. That is a concept I have not thought about. Very unique.

Perhaps it is better to be the poem than it is to be the poet.

Well written. Good job.

[Onyx Sky]

Beyond beautiful

[Lady Lazarus.]

your poems touch me more than any other here.
a yearning to speak through written verse but finding yourself trapped within the thing that granted one their freedom.
beautiful work by a beautifully amazing poet.

[Adrian K. Smith]

I am glad that I received the read request for this. There is a reality in the words that strikes a particular chord with me. Though I would not even call myself a hack much less a poet, the words come - random thoughts - random feelings - they sometimes bleed forth and they sometimes spew forth. I do not go looking for them - I do not have some vast grasp on the Universality of it all - I do not pick and choose the pretty or the dark things to write about. Yes, this is a fitting description for many people who do not wish to confine themselves to the infinity but would rather set themselves free in the finite. An excellent write....

[celyn]

I always read poems to music, but this.. I had to read it again without,
this somehow creates the chords in my head - and I adore the tune it writes.
Inspiring.

[C K.]

Love it a lot. I actually understand your work, it isn't all soaked in mannerisms and things that require hours of thought, they just kinda happen. Really definate style as well, the only other writer it could really be confused with is my dear friend ABT :P F**k yeah you're the poem x

[Spoken]

phew.. you definately are the poem.. I love the form of this so free flowing and "bouncy" (for lack of a better term) A great ending, sort of matter of factly deciding "yep thats me". you are the poem which means you are the words and their formation and therefore the poem creates itself :)

[Loribeth215]

Bravo!
Really good, and so original, with an edge and gutsiness. Love it.

[Katrina]

i like this. i understand it.
xxx

[Rachel DeHart]

^_^
I like the way with the last few lines,I can just see you sitting back and nodding. This whole poem is very moving. And I really enjoyed the flow.
Kudos.