- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Oh my passel of lines, you're gone
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Oh my passel of lines, you're gone,
Yet still you hang about!
Stray bits return to bring smiles
And in memory, a haunting most tactile,
Your voice sings, dulcet as an angel's.
But when I visit you in your new home,
How unsatisfied I am with what you've become!
Who does not regret in the adult
The false promise that was the child?
And what about those friends
You've made at parties there on the website?
I don't trust 'em
I bet they're wild and hide a nasty bite.
But begone!
When I try to work on your successor
You butt in, jealous
What'd be wrong with a nice little brother or sister?
How I wish the craft store sold kits,
Poetry by the number,
Then I'd have a Frost, a Keats,
Or even an antique Chaucer
To hang alongside my Matisse.
No such luck, I'm lost, fucked and stuck.
Sooner or later we all come to the end of the line,
The last child, the last breath, the last creation,
That you should be mine!
- COMMENTS
KOLKOREabout 16 years agoI agree with LeBroz and I found the poem interesting. Still, it felt a bit too theoretical for a poem (for my taste).
LeBrozabout 16 years agoNeed to be careful on reading this; it's not quite what it may at first seem. It's not about a person but an artist's creation {it seems to me}. A poet's words have grown and matured and are not what they at first seemed to promise. One of those good ones you need read more than once to appreciate.
