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The invention of Poetry

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on April 20, 2014 by themanwiththecowboyboots

as imagined today

 

April 20th

 

Today the sunshine was particularly radiant and the flowers are on the verge of blooming; it is in all a pretty day. Today’s events as transcribed in this entry have been spectacular to say the least and to me personally life-changing.

 

I shall begin where all things begin, and that is the woman. That woman, how should I say it? That woman was life changing. No, that doesn’t adequately delineate my intentions. If prior things have been described as life changing then the term falls short of fully describing her.

 

Come to think of it, all words that have been used prior fall short as adjectives in this regard because this woman is like nothing else, and the way she makes me feel is like nothing else. I am a man of words and letters, and so, as you imagine, this is quite frustrating because see, I wholeheartedly agree, with the notion that emotion can be described with text. But if all words fall short of bringing her to life perhaps something else ought do the task.

 

An important aspect in her existence is the music of it,

Aye the music she brings forth into my sensory center

I have never experienced anything like this before

And what’s more

Is that she defines,

Or redefines the impossible; she’s divine

It’s not her shape per se

For I have seen and experienced enough women to be able to say

That no pure beauty, that is physical, can catch my eye in such a way

It’s perhaps in tiny details like her laugh

I think part of her beauty in all probability is its indescribability

 

So here I am trying to convey, to my ability

And to say, with all my descriptive facilities,

What is impossible to portray

 

Could one begin to ascribe the label of perfection

To what he describes when he knows that upon inspection

That he will arrive to many imperfections

When in fact the latters existence

Is a premise to such ascription?

 

In my frustration I happen to create an

Inadequate interpretation

An inadequate description

Layer upon layer of textual creation

That ends, or rather begins, with a culmination

Of falling short, in my report of such manifestation

It is not sexual tension

It is my inadequacy at recollection

With words such affection

 

The irony is that I the bard of words

Cannot to any extent exact what’s in my mind

To paper

I find

Myself to be usually, the shaper of words into worlds

But this is now a feat I cannot savor

And if without my words she shall be lost

That also means I cannot save her

 

Allow me to repeat

She is like sunshine seen today,

She adds color to the scene

And between, her laughter and her smiles,

I find myself unable to compile, without resistance,

A summary of her existence

 

I find a need to invent, in my anguish, some new form of language

Poetry I shall call it

To attempt to shape her with words

But I know

That I shall fail in my task

For she

Is indescribable

 

I shall try even though I know

I am destined to fail

Perhaps that is some other form of poetry

 

Perhaps

Perhaps that cosmic creation’s sole purpose is asphyxiation of language

Perhaps, such universal complication, is a personification of human inadequacy

And perhaps application of language to describe such inconsistency has further implications

But it is not my place to make any such indication

 

So where am I, the poet, to find salvation,

If my own descriptive methods, have no ends in sight

If I cannot with my own letters, bring her to life

 

Perfection can’t describe her; she describes perfection

And I can only hope to be unflattering in my depiction

But alas the lowly words of men serve me not, to my affliction

So perhaps this poetry thing can approach adequate description

 

 

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Seventeen

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on March 17, 2014 by themanwiththecowboyboots

He still reminds me of a time when I was seventeen

And every time I see him, I swear, I could still feel the braces in my mouth

 

And I know I should not be thinking about him, but I just cannot help it

Every time I see him I feel like all my insecurities are knocking on my back door,

I feel like my heart is fluttering and I don’t know what to say

Why did God have to give him such pretty eyes, and why

Is he so clumsy and self-confident in such a charming way?

 

1

 

His new girlfriend is a bitch

I have never met her but I somehow know that she is a bitch

I mean who wears flip-flops and sweat pants

Are you kidding me?

The other day she came up to me at this poetry show and told me that my poem is dope

Dope she said

Dope

Who says that?

What a bitch

 

2

 

I see him jogging up the street everyday

And I’m not sure if he sees me but I think he looks happier when he runs up my street than when he runs up other streets

Does this mean anything?

I’m not sure

I mean if he wants to get back together with me, what would I say?

The nerves of this guy, thinking he could dump me for that stone-hearted bitch and then decide out of nowhere to get back to me

I would laugh and laugh and refuse him

But what if he looks really sad?

What if he buys me flowers and chocolates and write me a nice card

He does that to you, you know

You think you’re mad at him and then he pulls off the sweetest thing and you can’t help but forgive him

I mean, I wouldn’t want to forgive him

It’s all God’s fault you know,

I mean why did He have to give him such gorgeous eyes?

 

3

 

I don’t know if I told you this

But he used to pat my head every night and I would fall asleep

I wonder if he does that with her

I wonder if he loves her the same way he loved me

Or rather, the way I thought he loved me

I’m not sure I would want to be with him if he loves her that way

But he is so charming though

I don’t know

Do I sound crazy?

 

4

 

He brings out the teenager in me

I hate him for that

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