Poetry The Poet

[Sexy Beast]

The Poet

A poet with no thoughts,
The idea comes to mind,
But the words come out flat
They’re emotionless in appearance,
And entirely false
They are a fraud in meaning
And the poet searches for a way pass writer’s block

Here is the poet who has no concept
But writes for the thrill of it
You probably know him by his name,
But that is irrelevant.
He writes for the love of it,
And not cause of emotions thrown into it.
Yes, the poet just writes because he can
And because he can, he continues to write.

The poet is very tired, as that is very obvious
His words sloppy,
And form is off.
His meter is not correct,
But he does not care
His writing is about what’s fair
To him, and him alone. This is the poet
Who writes at night,
And this is quite alright.​

 

[nomad]

This seems like a poem about your other poem, insomnia. Unless, of course, you just write poems when you are half-asleep all the time, which is fine. I used to write stream of consciousness at my computer, my head on a pillow and my eyes closed, constantly drifting in and out of sleep but always typing. That's a very good exercise. I should make a thread where people can do that and post their results, no?

Anyway, back to this piece. It's a poem about poetry. It's also a meditation on what makes poetry poetic or not. Is a collection of words without thoughts a poem? I say yes, for what else could it be? If there were ever a medium in which thoughtless words could form art, it is poetry. I understand perfectly your idea of writing for the sake of writing and not for the sake of content. I love it. I like the writing more than the meaning or anything else. The writing is the only thing that is empirically in the now.