The Danger of Poetry

The danger of writing poetry

is becoming the poem fully

let me be Shelly’s Skylark to Elliot’s Wasteland any day

method writing

as Charlie Parker would say:

“If you haven’t lived it, you can’t blow it out your horn.”

So, how low do I have to go

to come up with such heights?

Do I really want to know?

I think so.

I wish I would know so.

I think.

Therefore I am.

I drink.

Therefore I am drunk.

I guess with a couple more beers

I’ll be able to blindfold my fears

and wake up tomorrow having forgotten

what made me put the bottle to my lips in the first place

having replaced terror with a hangover

a metaphor

for something that’s beyond me

though the truth stirs within me

something as simple as water

the path of least resistance

when resisted

fights back

making me awake thirsty

demanding I drink

the very thing I had

the very thing I am

before I started drinking.

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3 thoughts on “The Danger of Poetry

  1. Pingback: BACK « Fairy Godsister's Blog

  2. yourothermotherhere

    I read this and saw a high tower made of field stone with one wide window at the top. A skylark sits on the open window ledge peering in at a man sitting at a wooden table whose head is tilted to one side, looking at the empty stein and blank foolscap in front of him, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. Suddenly the skylark starts to sing, the man smiles, picks up his pen and begins to write…

    Reply
    1. cottonbombs Post author

      Wow. Your response tops my poem. Very well done. I am happy I could be part of that vision, (said the man as he picks up his pen and starts to write on the laptop before realizing it would be easier to type).

      Reply

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