I wroted a poem called ‘Soar’.
A bit of an odd departure for me.
I like poetry, but I’m often too dense to understand what it is I’m looking at. And as you’ll see, I sure as hell can’t write it.
Still, that hasn’t stopped me from having a quick bash, so to speak.
Behold my attempt, which I’ve called ‘Soar’. For increased irritation factor, it’s written in that all-down-the-page fashion, with random line breaks. As if that wasn’t enough, there’s no capitalisation.
Psst…wanna try my book?
Soar
i am interested in plane wings
which makes me boring,
because interesting things are
where you went on holiday
with other people who went on holiday
that your toddler does things
that other toddlers do,
(only much better),
the normative responses
of someone you slept with,
your personal opinions
which uncannily mirror
those of your demographic,
all these things are interesting,
but lift forces
and aerofoil cross-sections
and stress factors
and lightweight alloys
and avionics,
these things are dull
and quite aside from this
to dwell on one thing is dull,
whereas
to be buffeted here and there,
on Alfred’s topmost froth,
this is well-rounded
this is interesting,
and now by all means,
proceed to pathologise
the plane wing is inhumanly predictable
(you predictably say),
and poses fragile me no threat,
or better still
colour me adorable,
nerdy cool,
(beyond the pale,
reproductively speaking),
and so on and so forth,
whatever proves you right,
within the narrow compass of your ways,
confined to earth,
confined to each other as you are,
this chattering impermanence
carries on the wind,
says nothing
to distract me
from infinite plane wings.
For better or verse, let’s chat.
Drop me a line, or use the form below.
