"wunderkind" poems
Aging Poetry Well (proving the valor of writing poetry)
no more write, post, establish
to your immediate satisfaction,
what you are
what you think
is an amazing piece of
just you,
plus+comprehending
the world needs it, you,
ASAP!
needy for the
cosplay contemporaneous sharing,
curse of our
instantaneous time
from now on
deep down, gonna let it
casket age,
let memory
of the intensity
rust sufficiently to
get some time~plied
rusted accurate actualized
perspective
maybe trash it,
maybe tinker and
spot-check edit,
but if it is going
to stand
time testing,
let it pass a
first Herculean
examination of
fire and forget,
returning later
to collect it,
the wounded
that,
refusing to die,
thus proving proof,
the valor of
red badged courage of
writing poetry
is it worthy long after
the internal commotion
has passed,
just like
an ordinary
but very first
"I love you"
forming and reforming
then blurted in
a wunderkind awkwardness,
that can't be
taken back,
well, *** and all that
put me aside,
could be weeks,
months,
researching
the thing I love most,
waiting for the day I
need it worse,
a lot less,
so I can
do it better
maybe even go back
look up them
odd old folks,
written in
longing ago high passion,
and come at them
differently
or wistfully,
not
and like me,
age
for better
or
for worse
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 10:31 AM UTC
She wrote poems about sunflowers
and about the colors of each of the different flavors in her afternoon tea.
She wrote about the foot-worn path in the concrete floor of the history museum;
About a stranger’s dog who licked her hand at the park.
And to her future child,
And to the boundlessness of love she knew but could not fathom that existed in a forever-expanding space inside her,
And about that brave and resilient seed shared by all of science and art,
the interconnectedness of all things.
In radical joyful tones,
she documented the goodnesses of her Ordinary on scraps of paper and deposited them into a small chest,
her Memory Bank.
The people pointed at the lonely beergazer
The outraged wunderkind
The housebound widower
Each lost in the past or in the future.
Ah, misery.
The father of poetry.
They would shake their heads,
A shame, they would say.
Meanwhile, on the other side of town or maybe the world,
the mother of poetry, undeterred,
sat in her garden
singing to the souls of the vegetables.
Jan 10, 2022
Jan 10, 2022 at 3:32 AM UTC
our daily information
defies all expectation
reporting in unnerving detail
how trains derail, tour buses fail
to stay on roads without a rail
how terrorists attacked again
when nobody expected them
what nonsense politicians spew
unfortunately quite a few
how the economy keeps getting worse
yet billionaires still fill their purse
pollution levels have ‘improved’
El Nino has the jet streams moved
millions of refugees are loose
around the globe, few clothes, no shoes
armies and gangsters flex their muscles
cannot resist the deadly hustle
and for the icing on the cake
thousands of lives are now at stake
we learn without too strong emotions
that a new virus was discovered
the waters of our rising oceans
have by now covered
a third of several island nation's land
no more idyllic beaches with white sand
all this mixed in
with those exciting human interest stories
about the latest dog show winners
some brilliant wunderkind beginners
major and minor worries
from distant neighborhoods
commercials for the latest fads
and all the current healthy foods
self-advertising TV channel ads
who’s s great in sports
and who of sorts
in short
24/7 of much useless blather
that neither alters our lives
nor can we change its mostly dreary facts
yet we risk drowning under this debris
of cacophonic sound and image bites
unless we learn to
set our marks
clear our sights
turn into info sharks
devouring just those bits
of almost hidden information
we can make sense of and digest
the clues to what is really going on
below the surface of our media-created ocean
it’s the commotions in the depths
that teach us best
give us a glimpse behind the curtains of stale words
make us aware there’s little time for rest
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 3:24 PM UTC
Our secrets, can no longer, be store, between us,
somehow, someday, soon, it will be revealed,
by some knack, a **** a wunderkind,
previously invented, the iBrain, yet
to advance completely, one day, system
no longer be, restricted.
I wonder, how could that day alive...
What resulted, next.. but, i'm sure..
i won't be alive to see.. then..
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 10:41 AM UTC
Two nights in a row
with the sun coming up
I thought one was an outlier
but two is more than enough
As Roger Murtaugh would say:
I'm getting too old for this ****
But you keep swinging away;
you must be some wunderkind
I guess you'll never be done
Being this young
When your friends keep you up
By acting so numb
But I guess this is 'fun'...
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 7:08 AM UTC
Why must I sleep upside down just to wake up right,
At dusk I see sounds just as ghouls come at night,
I'm trying to be immortalized.
And remain with immune from immoral mortal lies,
Ans see the divine with my own 3 mortal eyes,
I just hope all my bonds are covalent,
And my health's in good stock,
I just hope all my thoughts are coherent,
Why I start to feel like the new Tupac
Or like the son of Odin,
Washed clean in frank's ocean,
I walk like thunder but every night ***** every day up.
Everyday I think about the things I gave up.
I think like yo -
What if all my heavy sighs i had to weigh up?
What if I got lost and time forgot to wait up?
Took a hiatus in Hades, what if I never found a way up?
Every night I think like "yo, what if I gave up?"
We wishin on the same stars - just on different nights,
I'm on a mission, same start - we just on different plights.
A lab rat stuck in an elaborate labyrinth,
A wunderkind stuck in his own wonderland,
Wade Wilson with no blades to wander with,
Majin Buu meandering in his mental maze,
Thor with no Mjolnor, no cats to thunder with,
I'm more Marth than Icarus and I made it out the pit.
I read somewhere your dreams don't give a **** about your fears,
Cause sometimes they the same thing,
And that schemes come about from peers,
Cause sometimes they after the same things.
This the type of **** that don't get no hook,
I was filling my lane but life had hit me with the no look,
highly unprepared - I bobbled and fumbled it,
Had to remember my affirmations - I uttered and mumbled it,
It go like:
What happens to the words that you never say?
What happens to the games that people decide not to play?
What happens to the moon in the middle of the day?
What happened to the other 49 shades of Grey?
What happens if Captain Jack never got to parlay?
What if Barbosa never found the 9 pieces of 8?
Or better yet like,
What if Peter Pan never landed?
What if I squeezed the lemons that life had handed?
What if I realized I'm at a disadvantage?
What if I finally admit that I'm damaged?
If you don't heal what hurt you - you bleed on those who didn't cut you.
This important content.
This is a message from my impaired cortex.
This is the imported fears complete with a weird flex.
This the pectoral on my body of work.
Jan 18, 2024
Jan 18, 2024 at 7:52 PM UTC