"suzerainty" poems
Words, once obedient servants
Now claim suzerainty over ideas.
The age of meaningful verse has yielded
To gobbledygook.
Poetry, a grey mist half-understood
Through which I stumble blindly,
A mirage I chase through the sands...
The wells of creativity run dry.
Neither outpourings of emotion nor tender murmurs;
Mere craftsmanship remains.
Lines dolled up in ****** baubles
Literary ****** soliciting passing readers,
Fireflies, impotent
In the face of the darkness within.
The autumn harvest of verbosity is ripe
For the scythe of the Grim Reaper
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 1:02 PM UTC
It was a Monday in November 1971
A cloudy afternoon
When the school sent me and another kid out to find work
As part of our vocational-ed class
My companion said, Hey, let's go to Louie's
So we wandered way down near downtown
And I was happy to find myself in an apartment rented by two kids
The first time I had been in a place emancipated from adult suzerainty
We didn't do much
Just listened to albums
Until the evening finally lazed in
And I had to get back on the highway and hitchhike back alone
(I was surprised to learn my companion lived in that far-flung area where we had wandered)
A grim thirtyish woman picked me up
Told me she was going to a job interview
Then she said, "Nah, I'm not going to that interview.
I don't want that job."
So she dropped me off
And made a U-turn
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 3:01 PM UTC