Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋

Writing Is Hard…is hard?

We can blame writers for clichés.
So good, their devised words, idioms, now over-employed.

Reason poets struggle to come original,
wanting to borrow now tired phrases.
Forced to reimagine what’s already been said?
upgrade Frost, Cummings, Angelou
and Dickinson? What to choose when lost,
holding a heart inside a cage
housing a feathered thing, because

everything possible has been written,
and we must reach, perfect, without infringement
of truest expression. Think harder, brighter,
be well-read, rested when tested
by loathsome environments — mono-syllabic,
over-repeated pop melodies — sugary, sentimental,
compartmentalist thought/walled off by PC/
inside a PC/coded/as we are recoded, deforming dystopian
by cloaked nazism (uninformed ignorance programmed).

Damn unincentivized public education, selling us short,
humbled to comprehend, come up with a better expression.

What about Sam and Diane?
Will we infinitely Fast and Furious?
How many trilogies trilogy in vacuous space
to finally displease audiences pursuing our green?
locked in anticipation of another season, salivating
veal Mandalorian, prohibitively ponder and idle on idols,
kick out any overused expression, scrutinize our own pale brain-text,
fruit of cognitive labor is not worthy of 99 cents? a like??

Why self-abuse when none near, let alone
hear these atypical meanderings dreaming caught
in a medium fence. Out of my garden, inspiration glows.
Outside my garden, no neighbors lean on poor protector,
unfurled chicken wire, curled, galvanized collapse
of mother clicks from emotional tic, tic, ticks.
The rabbits can have all they can eat.

I stand by clutched hoe. What a whore for a dollar more.
Words bare flesh in my flesh. I rhymed. So, this must be the end.


2.24.23

Is it now? Is it now?
How about now? Now, right?
Diane Long nearly killed herself…for her craft?
What helps me be so persistently strong?
I could have ended on that suicidal thought. And,
Why?

Sometimes, no font choice at all. Life is gruesome, gritty, haste. Mixed in this garbage disposal mind-gut, enough toothy blades to devour and complain, spit out a beautiful mess, hawked up.

Thanks Elle - on hiatus , Warped Sanity   for encouragement, keeping it real. You inspire. I hope I, too. or not??