Anybody who has read much of what I write (hopefully both of you) will be familiar with my struggles to understand poetry. To understand how it differs from prose, to understand what is good, what is bad.
I’m really not getting anywhere with that project, but I stumbled upon something here, referring to paper (the stuff we used to write upon) and that somehow started me on something that became a short poem about a poem (any poem) …. but which, now that I look at it, might just as easily be about any expressed thought.
To explain any further would be to undermine the very notion of what I think poetry, and indeed art itself should be about.
In the end I still don’t know if it says anything or if it is just more little words, neatly lined up in a row.
And it’s probably just more garbage that would assist only (and if only a little bit) to further rape the rainforests of the Amazon, if it were ever to find its way onto a printed page.
Pen on paper, thin
Lighter than air
Here and there
A meaning within
But is yet
My dream. To think, to dare
To not forget
What is not written cannot be read
What is not heard has not been said
So let it be
That you might see, too
Perhaps at night
Before the sun
One brief moment of light
When there was none
16 thoughts on “Paper. Thin. The Poem.”
One environmentally destructive
Who’s to say
What’s pretentious assumption
And terrible poetry
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Awwww, I loved this. You are such an interesting writer to read.🥰
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Kinder words have never been spoken to me.
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I don’t understand the rules of poetry either… I only know what I like and what I don’t like🤷🏼♀️
I love this!
Words come to us and we pass them on.
Sometimes those words are exactly what someone else needs to read/hear. 🌻
I much prefer your more spontaneous ones in our comments sections!
Have been wondering about your blog title/name … do you live in Richmond Road or were you born there? Thinking Richmond Rogue might fit better …
Here’s the secret. I discovered, one day, the concept of a ‘porn name’ (never mind just how I discovered it) and I assume it’s a name you use whilst viewing pornography to maintain anonymity, though why you’d want to, I do not know.
Anyway, your ‘porn name’ is the name of your first pet combined with the name of the street where you first lived.
So …. I was, indeed, brought up living on Richmond Road with an enormous ginger cat names Brutus.
geeze pops … you mean there is porn on WP?!? that’s news to me, I must have missed it …
Well, you know, we all get off on different things. One man’s porn is another man’s poison …. or something like that.
too deep for me Richmond Rogue …
Even the word ‘deep’ has certain connotations, of course. In truth, though, I’m not much of a porn fan, however much I’d like you to think that I am
surprising consider that many of your poems cross that border …
The nature of travel and exploration is that one crosses borders to taste the cuisine and immerse oneself, if only for a moment, in a foreign culture. One may bring back a souvenir or two and perhaps some snapshots to share with friends, but one always returns home.
As much as I hate to admit it, I am a responsible adult, and I cross no borders without a valid visa. You could probably do with a holiday yourself, occasionally.
I’ve had more than you could imagine pops 🙂
I’m sure that you have! And good for you. Not enough time is spent pausing to smell the roses ….
If we are talking about actual physical international destinations I think that I may have the upper hand, numbers wise. But if we are talking about this in the more metaphorical sense that I think we may both be alluding to, then …. it would be most unseemly of us to compare notes.