Thursday, September 2, 2010

latest piece of poesy . . .

I find that my connection with my Muse is often strongest in foreign lands, and having spent nine months out of the last two years in Bali, I have been fortunate to amass a few pieces that speak of the land and the people there.  This last one though is more of an introverted look inside the mind of someone struggling with the frustrations that accompany the creative process and the role of technology on an age old tradition.


the pool has over-flowed
and outside the brick walls
the roads have turned to mud
and the road-side streams that serve as
both bath, toilet, and fishing hole
have breached their banks

the cows stand still
ropes through noses
lazily wagging a tail
always chewing stupidly
like a redneck baseball player in the outfield

the thunder has subsided
but the grey sky hangs heavy
as a wet towel
over my head

i've never written a poem on a computer
before now
i've always enjoyed the feel of the pen
on the paper
taken pride in my cursive handwritting
so constitutional
so outdated
so unnecessary

but sitting here
at this machine
fingers moving without looking
tapping keys to signal letters
are my thoughts any more removed
than those transcribed with ink?
Or merely distracted by headlines,
facebook, and the axxxess at the touch of a button

these are not in the pages of my journal
the hard brown one with the magnetic cover
I use only for poems
like a private hymnal
it's so easy to forget, looking
at all that creamy whiteness

between the


to forget the times and
focus on the eternities, as emerson imbued

and now, checking how this all started
having to scroll up instead of merely glance
what moment was lost
what sweet whisper passed unheard
smothered by the pitter patter of rain
the incessant chewing of the cows
the sweet stink of a rising river of shit

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