Certain words, phrases, expressions, etc have been rendered meaningless to me, whether by overuse or too frequent improper/loose use. These are words and phrases I have to spend an extra immeasurable fraction of a second to think hard about to consciously acknowledge them as meaning anything at all. I came up with a list of them off the top of my head (and with a little help from the blogs on the Phoenix New Times) and arranged them into a poem. These are by no means universal, so if you're looking at this as a fun list of overused words and phrases that we can all agree upon, you may be disappointed.
It Happens Every Day
Only the young
live every day to the
bank
You've just gotta feel it
Just the facts
made for tv
Live life
Live your life
Wasting time
Killing me
Whole life
90% perspiration
Killing me
Buy one get one
bella undocumented
Blast books
Dysfunctional
Rock opera
Darkly comedic vultures
transformation
Proactive urban street culture
Department of Transportation
I'll handle it
Leave me alone
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
*snap snap snap snap snap snap snap*
ReplyDeletePsst. Since you've been so kind to share you work with the world, I'm going to show you something I threw together over the last couple of days. I'm reluctant to post any of my own poetry on my "web-log," but I seem not to suffer from this inhibition on OTHER people's "web-logs." ENJOY. Or don't.
Vulture
Ugly and unashamed,
but neither proud.
He doesn’t concern himself.
Caked gore baking
on his bald crown –
living in disease,
but never with disease.
Can’t be bothered for a wingflap,
yet he soars.
You see him,
and you know he’s ugly.
He sees you.
He doesn’t presume to know –
he doesn’t presume –
but he understands that you
are meaningless –
you, the thing you think
you are – all of you
that’s dear to you –
unripeness, unremarkable, to
be watched and waited out
before he’ll condescend.
The only meaning’s at the end of things,
and the end of things is his concern –
and the end of things is never pretty,
and the fact is in the flesh
that cleaves to bone.
After all –
we're only meat that’s yet to mellow,
life is given to be torn apart and passed along,
and death is for the birds.
You need to not hide this! I won't that "it's a travesty that my poetry is made public and yours isn't", but I will think it in secret. Except for just now.
ReplyDeleteI like the imagery and the clear arc and focus. I am very jealous of the focus, which you make seem easy and natural. Do I have permission to read this publicly at an open mic? I may do so either tomorrow or Friday.
Please do!
Delete(But for what I have in focus, I lack in spontaneity and sprightliness. I've probably only done three open mics in as many years.)