A pair of lo-fi shears.
The pouring out of self
Into construction paper poems.
~
Eloquent
Like fog
In a dream,
How
The night whispers
Its trespasses, its sanity.
There is a style
To a misspelled word,
A crater.
Albeit the silence
Came with fries.
naïve haircuts 
just got back from sabbatical, Bob when I saw this little gem. You inspire my inner surrealist. The title is telling. I loved B movies as a kid esp the monster ones like ‘Creature From the Black Lagoon’. creepy and fun. like ‘an eloquent fog’ and my favorite, ;the silence came with fries’ —
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Thanks John! I loved B movies as a kid too. And I think I can say I still do. Creature from the Black Lagoon is a classic! Thank you for the wonderful comment.
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your work is like jazz music: you have to listen more than once to find the sway and jib of the piece, and then once you’ve caught it, everything falls into relationship; well, that’s how I listen to jazz, I haven’t got wide-enough ears to take it all in on first listening
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Thank you for the wonderful comment! And I’m with you, it takes me some time to listen/read someone’s music/poem before I start to get a feel for it.
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I love this. This poem has such lively imagery, and the last two lines are great fun. Also, I have to say I think you and I might be working on a similar wavelength at the moment. Your lines: “The pouring out of self Into construction paper poems” is similar conceptually to a few lines I scribbled yesterday about the impersonality of self. Always a pleasure to experience your work!
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Thanks UsedLife! It’s good to know we are working on similar wavelengths right now. I feel like that has happened before. Which is reassuring, cause I’m a big fan of your poetry.
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I think it’s happened before, too. And I couldn’t agree more: always an honor to be thinking and writing similarly. I very much appreciate and respect your talents as a poet!
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I like these lo-fi shears because they are cutting into my consciousness…sans the cruelty of pinking shears.
“Eloquent
Like fog
In a dream,”
But isn’t that just the way it is. Our dreams hold the story, and the fog that tells the truth dissipates upon waking. I loved this part.
“There is a style
To a misspelled word,
A crater.”
It’s the kind of style that suits itself….
And the humor and loneliness in the final stanza…..
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Thanks Holly! I am always fascinated with amateur/outsider art. Which is why I started with B-move and lo-fi shears. Something very endearing about that. Thank you for your wonderful comment!
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“How
The night whispers
Its trespasses, its sanity.” – love these lines.
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Thanks Sunra!
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The mispelled words as craters and then how it can all come with fries. Glad to have found you in the blogosphere.
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Thank you!!
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I was talking with a friend recently about what makes a good poem and she said “It does something for my brain.” She said more than that, some of which I can’t remember if it’s what she said or what I thought in response. Anyway, your poetry does that something unexplainable for my brain, even when I can’t put together an intelligent response to it. But this is great. All of it. And what a finish!
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Thank you Worms for the wonderful comment! I’m really glad you think so. Thanks!
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