Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
alan-mcclurePoems
tippity tippity tap tap tap tippity tap tippity tap tap tap And stop. This is not it. This is not art, this is no way for me to start. This glowing screen this cold machine can never catalyze my dreams into                                        communication                                                    conversation or fire my                                                             imagination (nor can The mincing of a pen across neat lines).  Writing only hurts my hand. And so, I stand. Re-align the ol’ synapses Click my fingers and my HOUSE collapses!    And  THERE, Planet Earth, with a grin, says, “I dare you!  Throw form to the winds!”  And I, I want to blast my words from the sky with a big, black blunderbuss, scatter the survivors to the four corners of heaven! I want to ****** my fingers, scraping in the grit, Frantically digging in the glaur and the grime for runaway rhyme I want to haul my metaphors in, thrashing, from the sea Hold them, know them, set them free! I want my similes to flatten me Like rhinos on the rampage Tell me your stories, in everything you do Make a bonfire of biros, a pixel pyre And dance  your poems as the flames leap higher! I want to write with my FEET across a Scotland-shaped sheet! I do not want to be neat. To tether in letters, To file for forgetters. Words on a page are birds in a cage, Poetry unspoken Life, unwoken.
0
Nov 24, 2010
Nov 24, 2010 at 1:40 AM UTC
Lament
tippity tippity tap tap tap tippity tap tippity tap tap tap And stop. This is not it. This is not art, this is no way for me to start. This glowing screen this cold machine can never catalyze my dreams into                                        communication                                                    conversation or fire my                                                             imagination (nor can The mincing of a pen across neat lines).  Writing only hurts my hand. And so, I stand. Re-align the ol’ synapses Click my fingers and my HOUSE collapses!    And  THERE, Planet Earth, with a grin, says, “I dare you!  Throw form to the winds!”  And I, I want to blast my words from the sky with a big, black blunderbuss, scatter the survivors to the four corners of heaven! I want to ****** my fingers, scraping in the grit, Frantically digging in the glaur and the grime for runaway rhyme I want to haul my metaphors in, thrashing, from the sea Hold them, know them, set them free! I want my similes to flatten me Like rhinos on the rampage Tell me your stories, in everything you do Make a bonfire of biros, a pixel pyre And dance  your poems as the flames leap higher! I want to write with my FEET across a Scotland-shaped sheet! I do not want to be neat. To tether in letters, To file for forgetters. Words on a page are birds in a cage, Poetry unspoken Life, unwoken.
- From Also Available Free
alan-mcclure
Written by
alan-mcclure
Scottish
Nov 24, 2010
Nov 24, 2010 at 1:40 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem