Thursday, January 31, 2008

A Bright Sullen

The other day, in an attempt to show my disdain for poetry, I wrote a poem.

I wanted to see if the average person could distinguish between nonsense I scribbled on the back of a subscription card for WWE Magazine and the work of a Poet Laurette.

Most people couldn't.

This isn't a knock on them. It's just that "good" poetry is so hard to quantify.

You don't even have to rhyme.

I jotted my poem down in small sections as I watched a bad pan and scan version of the Micheal Keaton flick Multiplicity.

It took me about two minutes.
Here it is:


A Bright Sullen

The dogs bark at the break of day
They know what is started
In the back a tree stands
Soon to transition to the evening fire

Candy everywhere, the children scream
happiness as days slip away
older now everyone is present
All of life, all of a dream

Breath is heavy wheels move
No one still stands in the atrium
No one sits anytime, the wall doesn't move
Almost all the ponds have frozen

A chair. Empty. Alone.
People pass by legs in constant motion
No one sits. It squanders it's usefulness


Not bad, eh?

Actually it's really bad.

Let's take a closer look:
Here it is:
A Bright Sullen

The title sounds really deep, but it's not. I just thought "sullen" was a good artsy word so I stuck bright in front of it.

The dogs bark at the break of day
They know what is started
In the back a tree stands
Soon to transition to the evening fire

Stupid dogs. They don't know anything.

Candy everywhere, the children scream
happiness as days slip away
older now everyone is present
All of life, all of a dream

I am pretty sure I ripped this part off from some greeting card or from the movie Cocoon.

Breath is heavy wheels move
No one still stands in the atrium
No one sits anytime, the wall doesn't move
Almost all the ponds have frozen

At this point in the creative process I was thinking about actor Luis Guzman. He makes me laugh.

A chair. Empty. Alone.
People pass by legs in constant motion
No one sits. It squanders it's usefulness

So stupid. This whole poem squandered it's usefulness.

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