“A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.”
Having never wrote a poem before, and possessing a desire to learn how, I decided to challenge myself to write two poems everyday for thirty days in the month of March 2012. The poems will be posted to Facebook on my Timeline, on this blog, and the short poems will be posted on Twitter also. Also included will be some poems that are written by my friends during the month of March.
Join me on this journey of personal growth, and maybe you’ll learn something too!
I’m coming to the realization that March may not have been the best choice for this project.
Between assignments, obligations, and impending final exams, I am barely finding the time to get enough sleep.
I will produce more poetry when time permits. After mid-April I will be free to write on a regular basis, and I plan to continue this project thoughout the summer to improve my writing skills. Maybe I should change it to 365 days of poems. haha
More to come!
Smokey Jazz lounge.
Enter right, the bombshell blonde.
Enter left, the manic musician.
The crowd is snapping, cracking, and tapping.
Beat, snap, crack, hep.
Never trust a prankster.
Banality. Conformity. Society.
Submit to an electric kool-aid acid test,
or try a Further journey.
Psychedelic posies painted profanely on pristine pictures of preppy posers.
Kesey, Ginsberg, Thompson, Leary and the rest.
Culture countered consciously.
What is Hip?
Hip changes from moment to moment.
Hip is a projection of the pelvis and upper thigh bone in humans and quadrupeds.
Hip is the fruit of a wild rose.
Hip is trendy.
Hip is popular.
Hip, hip, hooray!
Hip is a communal cheer.
Hip is a reflection of society.
Hip is well-informed.
Hip courses through the blood of greasy bearded men.
Hip is the drug of choice for girls with more bangs than face.
Hip is an illusion for the bourgeois.
Hip is convention.
Hip does not exist.
Hip is different to different people, different cultures, different attitudes.
Hip is tragic.
Hip is cool, hot…lukewarm?
Hip is it.
Hip is money.
Hip is spinning out of control.
Hip is nothing.
You can’t have the past back
A photograph;an artifact;a memory.
Frozen in Time. Trapped in a moment.
Wrapped in a myelin sheath.
A relic of the past; things move too fast.
A blast from the past can’t outlast,
Forward flowing; future in flux.
Memories, chemicals, synapses.
All things must end,
to begin again.
21st Century Scoundrels
Modern society is driven by wealth,
capital, money, dough, cash.
Protect your stash.
before it’s Burned to ash.
and You’re out with the trash.
The dead man walks,
the live man gawks,
the raven squawks.
Wacky Winter Weather
Wispy winds whine wearily,
whispering worried whimpers,
wondering where winter went.