Randomous-ness

Here it is after midnight and I find myself awake. Amazing. A used-to-be common occurrence is now a strange and wonderous thing.

I was in bed having random thoughts swirling around, so I thought I'd just write them down so I could actually sleep. Often, my random post-bedtime musings are poetry-ish, but since I generally never send those out for possible publication (am I chicken, or a bad poet? Who knows.), might as well post it here. Feel free to skip.

Firstly, I was thinking that if you took a cocktail wienie and put a toothpick in it longways, then dipped it in batter and quick fried it, you'd have teeny weeny corn dogs.

Then, inexplicably, I was thinking about this guy that was in my old writing group. He's the kind of poet that I just detest: pompous and in love with his words. Not that we aren't all in love with our words, but there was something about the sameness of all his poems, all read out loud in this ridiculous ponderous cadence (the kind that brings to mind a metronome...or Chinese water torture) that was like fingernails against the chalkboard of my brain.

So that's the inspiration behind tonight's poem (not edited even remotely and just being typed out as I think it, so if you don't like it, tough noogies). There's certainly a place for all kinds of poetry. Just not in my particular brain.

Stultifying

I like my poetry
simple and honest --
no sonorous suckling sniveling excuses for sympathy,
no words-that-aren't-words,
no rhymes forcibly raped of meaning, nor
fashionably late punctuation, out for a late night driveby--
the kind of poetry that screams out
"na-nee-na-nee-boo-boo, I know more words than you do!"

I don't have the patience
to wade through trollops and dollops
of rhythmic self-flattery, or words so
twisted and torn they have lost
all self-respect and meaning --
save for you, the torturer, the poet.

I say leave the words alone and
let them work with you, for you.
You will never be able to trap those fleeting thoughts,
those glimpses of immortality --
no words will ever be enough,
their simple lives cannot be flayed
into the shape you see in your mind

You can only ask that they
settle long enough
to let someone see,
for just a moment,
into your life.