I've been going over my various pieces of old poetry lately, as I prepare these pieces for Minstrel Mondays, and this weekend I couldn't help but be disgusted by my own work. It seems that half of them are mushy love ballads which make me blush, and the others are bitter bitch fests, which decry the improprieties of society or individuals. I had to question my personal depth after reading such trifles.
Then, it dawned upon me. That's what poetry is, for the most part. It's either peace and love, or waaa, waaa, waaaah, nag, nag, nag! The truth of the matter is, poetry is about emotions, and the most obvious ones are love and hate. Poets are often found singing their love for someone or something, or they're complaining about how horrible things are. It's a flighty form of writing, based on limitless passion.
So, taking a couple of minutes out from my busy writing life, I threw down my feelings on the subject, though as latter lines explain, it is only a temporary emotional reaction. Next week, I might have a totally different outlook. That's poetry for you.
I love you,
I hate you
I need you,
That's all I hear when I read what you say.
The flakes of emotional breaks.
It's what I get from
Everything we place on our screens,
The psychotic scenes of
mental masturbation for wordsmiths.
Eye of the beholder.
The poems they drip with
Whatever you feel,
It flows on the page
Like bibliographic vomit.
I tried to wade through
The cesspool of poetry
From a plethora of pedantic poets.
Yet it was no use
I felt it was abuse
Of my mind's eye and my writer's sanity.
Should I despise it,
This art form of failed expressions?
It's everything and nothing,
The ultimate art
For those who cannot draw.
Is it any wonder I could never make
A million bucks at weaving words
Which I held in contempt?
Do I really despise poetry?
It is a fair question, but
My answer could never be honest.
Name the day, and my view will change
For ours is a love/hate relationship.
To see the best rhyme, or freestyle slime,
It may seem the best candy
Or the sourest battery acid on the cerebrum.
Take these words for what they are,
A waste of time for your mind's eye
And maybe there you will find their worth.