Published March 19, 2006
Drugged Diatribe
Canto I
Proud beneath colorful and drab delusions
that beckon me from the non-truth
that always seems to grow, fungally, on my mind.
Harbinger! Harbinger! My mind shouts at me
though I know not what I or it
means or wants.
I aim the handgun at the single mother,
whom I disdain deeply within. The hatred
pours from a deep, dark scar inside of my heart
and on my palms.
Peaceful, simple love song
exudes flying in my brain.
Flying now, the tan, middle-aged
and ancient, more ancient
than anything I possess.
I wish she would unlock herself
so that I could peer into
that unfortunate darkness that won’t
seem to be cast away; not by force
nor by wizardry.
Something has changed in the color
of the water that flows from the crack
in the ceiling. Lying in bed, I always knew.
But now I do not know and wonder
if ever I will.
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141,418 Literary Works • 674,396 Reviews
I wrote it when I was high....
This seemed pretty flat to me...like each poet has a...base, and when they're uninspired, what comes out is the base, and maybe it's good, but all the base stuff resonates in the same way and tastes the same. Maybe I'm dead wrong asserting that this is your base, though. Um, I think that...you try too hard to be intelligent in your writing...you are intelligent. You try to be more intelligent, and it comes off to me as being very contrived. Like, remember how I said that I could see you being an English prof? Well, that's the image I have of you, and I want you to shake it off. You're a kid, you're a man, and nobody is an English prof. English profs don't write poetry, they grade it and they lecture. I want to see something that's more real than that...because things like this feel so damn classical, and that's a completely different world that I'm not a part of, and one that nobody is a part of....
I don't mean that to be an attack, in any way. Just a thought that I've been turning over somewhere in my vaguely conscious, vaguely unconscious mind, for a while. You know that you're good, and that I know that you're good. I want you to get even better, and I think that by working on...being more "real", you can do it. I don't mean to be more teenager, more stereotypical, more depressed-sounding, more any-of-that-shit. I want you to be more regular guy you meet in a coffee shop or at a show or in a club, who's your friend and is smart and playful and doesn't sink too deeply into the quicksand of life. Just someone that everyone would respect and who seems real. I'm definitely, unequivocably rambling, so I'll get off. Bye chummers.
-Brettbert
i really enjoyed this. it bore some disturbing images, but they stuck within my mind.
saying ancient twice in four words/one line really bugs me.
This stanza is kind of strange:
I would prefer more precision of language. For instance, you're dealing with darkness being unfortunate that can't be cast away. Okay? But darkness is something very sketchy. Instead of using something that cannot easily be remembered, why can't you pinpoint what it is and then expand on it?
And, perhaps this is my own personal preference, but I think it would be better if you made this woman seem more... well, human. For instance, and this might be considered archaic or politically incorrect, etc., but I think it would be awesome, if you do decide to use darkness as the noun, to at least say that darkness is residing in her breast. This does several things for the poem. It connects the spiritual sense of the darkness with the physical sense of the darkness, thus making it even more mysterious and awesome.
Anyway, that's my two cents. Not bad though, not bad at all.
This reminds me of Def Poetry Jam. It has that kind of rythm to it, and it reads somewhat angrily, to me anyway. Pretty good.