Plastering The Interweb With Fragmented Thought

Plastering the interweb with fragmented thought Cultivating an insane kind of fame Convincing an illiterate society That you’re more than just a silly name Penning out frivolously piddly odes Basking in the lack of their attention span Trying so hard to be cool, plus Your slams make me not want to give a damn The barely legible equivalent of an Insta-model Don’t you know, writers write & speakers squeak A farce played out in bits & bytes Preying on the vapid, the stupid & the weak You’ve grown your hipster beard You fancy yourself as suave & dapper But I know your dirty little secret That you’re no PaRappa the Rapper

Trying To Conjure The Ghost

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She said I was, “trying to conjure the ghost of Bukowski”
I told her there was better writers to admire
I’m not in college anymore
Drinking & degrading women won’t light my fire

I’m looking for inspiration to ignite my soul
A need to be revolutionized from the daily grind
Normalcy & the mundane will kill my spirit
I’m pushing forward to nurture & excite this weary mind

I Want Nothing More Than To Have You

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I want nothing more than to have you
To have you dependent upon my words
To have you drunk on my inspiration
I want to be the writer you always preferred

There Are Many Fancy Writers

 

There are many fancy writers

Those who are great, they’ve decided

Elegant illustrations & plunging necklines

But hubris is often one-sided

There are many arrogant writers

Quick with the wit they’ve decried

Moans of pain suited to their fame

Loving with one eye open it’s often implied

I Have A Secret

I have a secret
Scribbling in the margins
The poetry of opera halls
Burning drinks of gargled sin
A letter to the editor
Words chosen for us tonight
The opinions of a fool
With only a pretty girl left to recite

Stayed Up All Night Trying To Write

 

Stayed up all night trying to write
I still can’t get you out of my head
Sleep didn’t come easy this night
Giving anything to only go to bed
The clock ticks past two & three
Knowing there’s nothing I’m going to find
Off dreaming of nothing, where I want to be
Another scotch to still my racing mind

 

 

Image by Florian Pircher from Pixabay

Hanging With Crazy Creative Types

 

 

Hanging with crazy, creative types
They spin your mind in awkward ways
Melding simple ideas into revolutions
Expanding out into our civilian days
They’re different by their very nature
Never able to hide within society
Changing the world with each thought
Their beauty laced with inherent piety

Hanging With Suspicious Writers

Hanging with suspicious writers
An overly socialized troop
Collectively creating
An emotionally battered group
Pondering word placement
& the value of existence
The quiet utility of thought
Inspiration compounding persistence

Thoreau

“How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.”
― Henry David Thoreau

 

Allen Ginsberg

 

“We are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter.”
― Allen Ginsberg, Howl and Other Poems

Margaret Chittenden

“Many people hear voices when no one is there. Some of them are called mad and are shut up in rooms where they stare at the walls all day. Others are called writers and they do pretty much the same thing.”
― Margaret Chittenden

Auden

“Some writers confuse authenticity, which they ought always to aim at, with originality, which they should never bother about.”

– W.H. Auden