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Full Version: My mind is going.
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Ever read so much poetry that you feel hopeless? I do. And all these publications I collect, these poets I find, these poems I read... I become overwhelmed and realize, "Wow. The world is full of poets. What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here." The wildest thing is... Everyone's original! Everyone! How the heck is that possible? So I get sucked into a vortex of deception and cannot ground what I love and what I hate, and poetry is the back hole. Eventually, my brains will be spewed from the core and I'll be nothing but floating energy. Then I want to rant about it, so I write poetry. Lots and lots of poetry. The cycle starts all over again, I go up then I go down, I get sucked in, scrambled, then spit back out. It's heaven in hell. I swear.
Speaking of rants, what has rowens been up to?
Is it cos you're a freak? Or a weirdo? Hysterical

Don't love it or hate it when you read it, just experience it. Love and hate will come later, when it seeps into you and you realise that it's changed you and you're either quite pleased with the change or frustrated as hell. Love and hate are good. Apathy is bad -- the poems that leave you cold and wondering what it is you're missing since so many other people seem to just love this poet to bits but you think they're mostly fraud. Sometimes it's because they're too much like yourself. Sometimes it's because they're too much like someone you'll never have anything in common with.

Most of all, I love the poets who write in ways that I've never thought of. I want poetry that's new and exciting, that leads me to different places, that opens windows where there used to be only walls. You're writing tiny dribbles into a vast ocean of poetry that spans millennia -- at one time or another, everyone who's ever written anything worth reading has felt overwhelmed by that reality.
The reality is like... Not reality. It's a place of absolute confusion. I punched my fridge last night and my hand is bruised, but poetry kills me. I think I am a total freak.
Nobody ever created anything worthwhile from a position of comfort.
No, they didn't. Actually, some poetry is so effective it leaves me feeling disturbed. I read one about rape in the January edition of POETRY, and it's left its mark. Not to be liked, more so disliked. And written well.
It calms me when I read a poem that's new to me that I love, it reminds me it's possible to write a poem that is just right. I may never do it but the fact that others do is encouraging.

Does that make me a freak? Or a weirdo? Hysterical
Possibly. Smile Freaks and weirdos do weird things like love freaky poetry.
(04-04-2017, 06:44 AM)Leanne Wrote: [ -> ]Nobody ever created anything worthwhile from a position of comfort.

This principle would be well worth analyzing, extrapolating and developing.   It would seem that the entire western world (and insofar as the rest of the world follows the west, everybody else as well) is leaning towards the soft, ease and lethargy of sagging flesh, heart disease, diabetes, skin cancer, general atrophe, exhaustion...........all in the name of 'comfort.'    The very effort of maintaining a decent, upstanding and forward life require a kind of steady vigilance which is instilled through discipline and has nothing to do with this shallow configuration of material provision.
(07-15-2017, 06:22 AM)Thunderembargo Wrote: [ -> ]
(04-04-2017, 06:44 AM)Leanne Wrote: [ -> ]Nobody ever created anything worthwhile from a position of comfort.
This principle would be well worth analyzing, extrapolating and developing.   It would seem that the entire western world (and insofar as the rest of the world follows the west, everybody else as well) is leaning towards the soft, ease and lethargy of sagging flesh, heart disease, diabetes, skin cancer, general atrophe, exhaustion...........all in the name of 'comfort.'    The very effort of maintaining a decent, upstanding and forward life require a kind of steady vigilance which is instilled through discipline and has nothing to do with this shallow configuration of material provision.
I can go with the effort of maintaining a decent life requiring vigilance but upstanding is subjective and while I feel like it takes all my energy just to stay in place, moving through time brings one forward on its own.
I dont understand whats wrong with being a poet in a world full of poets, are you saying the fear is more about not being accepted as a poet or your poetry being accepted ?

Burrealism Smile

Sucked into a vortex of deception
so much poetry that you feel hopeless,
all these publications become overwhelmed
cannot ground what I love, what I hate.
Everyone's original, is that possible?

Poetry is the black hole
nothing but floating energy
my brains will be spewed from the core
freaks and weirdos do weird things,
everyone's original, is that possible?

No, they didn't
so effective it leaves me feeling
I go up like love freaky poetry
I go down, one about rape
everyone's original, is that possible?

The wildest thing is
I collect these poets





NB * All content @ and from the pen of burrealist hope you don't mind.

LilacFantasy

I know this might seem simple but if you were to let go of the fear you're feeling with your brain, and let in your imagination I am positive with your talent your words will change your own thoughts. The mind is a scary thing, but it will allow you to also find some form of beauty from your pain- be it words that heal, or a perspective your eyes were unable to see.