1.
Neon purple wishes
play their games outside.
Dance over Brother’s Lounge.
(I’ve got a few secrets about that spot.)
Two A.M. junkies
dance, dance
under the streetlights
reflecting off my window.
I shielded my eyes
so I could sleep
looking at the thing.
Neon purple wishes
dance across the street.
Kinetic fantasy
roaming my dreams.
Neon purple wishes
polka in the smog.
Pleasant Valley’s
not too far away
on a Thursday night
if the traffic cop’s will listen.
Neon purple wishes
upset my balance,
obscure the sign
identifying the state store.
How am I supposed to drink
when the damn thing’s covered?
Imbecilic.
2.
Brothers!
Ratatatouille!
Visions of apocalypse!
Dangerous men in white papal robes!
No such thing as open readings!
Hear yourself yabberyakking
endless toil mock real artistry!
Study known intellects!
Quote Nietzsche!
Quote Freud!
Quote Rand! And Elliot!
Kerouac! And Twain!
Twain’s too mainstream!
Quote Capote!
Quote Moses! Cain and Abel!
Have no quotes of own
to offer in rebuttal
3.
Hot damn,
you’re an expert.
Tell me my writing
this writing
doesn’t meet your expectations.
Sell your poims to Bucharest
Fargo, and the frozen north plains.
Insult me with your vast wisdom;
drive out sincere thought
banish honesty.
Jump for joy at ignorance.
Lust after stupidity.
Seek no spiritual return
for those who paved your way.
Submitted by conect11 on 8 June 2007 - 10:45pm.
Style / Type:
freeform
(2 votes)
Who are the experts?
Love the passion in your work. Only thing in this one I wondered about is which “experts” you are referring to. Critics? Teachers? This forum? I hope its not a redneck reaction to intellectuals in general. That’s a nasty right wing trait. If someone is intelligent and well read does that make them an intellectual? or only if they are snooty and arrogant about it?
Cheers
Weirdelf
re:
Thanks so much for your comments! This poem was a reaction to a poetry reading I attended back in 1998 when many of the readers took turns discussing semantics, poetry mechanics, language usage, etc. The context of the conversations was such that the lesser experienced poets were made to feel unwelcome, “pushed out,” like the place was an “old boys club,” etc. The ironic thing is, I grew up like this, forever trying to prove my intellectuality to people through my vocabulary, wordplay, and so on. About ‘97 I had a dramatic change in my way of thinking and realized all I was doing was being egocentric, and not listening to others voices, their words.
Oh yes, I know what you mean
Poets can be utter bitches about each others work. I also tried for years to try and prove my intellectuality. But it may still seem that way because of my (I don’t mind admitting it, I worked for it) excellent vocabulary. I always look up words I don’t know. Listening to others voices is an acquired skill. When I realised that fault in myself I tried a simple exercise. When listening or reading I repeated in my mind exactly what was said or written instead of preparing a reply before they finished. It works.
Cheers