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My prose is turgid, it just hasn't got any energy.

quote by Carol Ann Duffy
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The Heat The Energy (Pheugoo Remix)

Can you feel it, the energy, the heat
the energy, the heat
Can you feel it, the energy, the heat
the energy, the heat
The energy
The energy
The energy
The energy
Can you feel it
the energy, the heat
the energy, the heat
the energy, the heat
the energy, the heat
the energy, the heat
the energy, the heat
the energy, the heat
the energy, the heat
The energy
The Heat

song performed by Prodigy
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English Bards and Scotch Reviewers: A Satire

'I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew!
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers'~Shakespeare

'Such shameless bards we have; and yet 'tis true,
There are as mad, abandon'd critics too,'~Pope.

Still must I hear? -- shall hoarse Fitzgerald bawl
His creaking couplets in a tavern hall,
And I not sing, lest, haply, Scotch reviews
Should dub me scribbler, and denounce my muse?
Prepare for rhyme -- I'll publish, right or wrong:
Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

O nature's noblest gift -- my grey goose-quill!
Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will,
Torn from thy parent bird to form a pen,
That mighty instrument of little men!
The pen! foredoom'd to aid the mental throes
Of brains that labour, big with verse or prose,
Though nymphs forsake, and critics may deride,
The lover's solace, and the author's pride.
What wits, what poets dost thou daily raise!
How frequent is thy use, how small thy praise!
Condemn'd at length to be forgotten quite,
With all the pages which 'twas thine to write.
But thou, at least, mine own especial pen!
Once laid aside, but now assumed again,
Our task complete, like Hamet's shall be free;
Though spurn'd by others, yet beloved by me:
Then let us soar today, no common theme,
No eastern vision, no distemper'd dream
Inspires -- our path, though full of thorns, is plain;
Smooth be the verse, and easy be the strain.

When Vice triumphant holds her sov'reign sway,
Obey'd by all who nought beside obey;
When Folly, frequent harbinger of crime,
Bedecks her cap with bells of every clime;
When knaves and fools combined o'er all prevail,
And weigh their justice in a golden scale;
E'en then the boldest start from public sneers,
Afraid of shame, unknown to other fears,
More darkly sin, by satire kept in awe,
And shrink from ridicule, though not from law.

Such is the force of wit! but not belong
To me the arrows of satiric song;
The royal vices of our age demand
A keener weapon, and a mightier hand.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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Two schools of thought.

.

The lady chose to take offence
Although I said she wrote fine prose
She may not know the difference
between poetry and prose

She thought that she wrote poetry
But what she wrote was free form prose.
I offered no apology
It was not my fault that she chose.

Not to learn the basic rules
defining prose and poetry
Two very different writing schools
in which to show your artistry.

The so called experts can’t agree
and coined the term poetic prose.
Though writing cannot possible
be classed as poetry and prose.

If it’s not metered it is prose
no matter how poetical.
But you’re entitled to compose.
Fine prose and call it poetry.

Though I suggest respectfully
you should be proud of writing prose.
As some do most successfully.
But it was poetry I chose

Thursday,11 March 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A Fable For Critics

Phoebus, sitting one day in a laurel-tree's shade,
Was reminded of Daphne, of whom it was made,
For the god being one day too warm in his wooing,
She took to the tree to escape his pursuing;
Be the cause what it might, from his offers she shrunk,
And, Ginevra-like, shut herself up in a trunk;
And, though 'twas a step into which he had driven her,
He somehow or other had never forgiven her;
Her memory he nursed as a kind of a tonic,
Something bitter to chew when he'd play the Byronic,
And I can't count the obstinate nymphs that he brought over
By a strange kind of smile he put on when he thought of her.
'My case is like Dido's,' he sometimes remarked;
'When I last saw my love, she was fairly embarked
In a laurel, as _she_ thought-but (ah, how Fate mocks!)
She has found it by this time a very bad box;
Let hunters from me take this saw when they need it,-
You're not always sure of your game when you've treed it.
Just conceive such a change taking place in one's mistress!
What romance would be left?-who can flatter or kiss trees?
And, for mercy's sake, how could one keep up a dialogue
With a dull wooden thing that will live and will die a log,-
Not to say that the thought would forever intrude
That you've less chance to win her the more she is wood?
Ah! it went to my heart, and the memory still grieves,
To see those loved graces all taking their leaves;
Those charms beyond speech, so enchanting but now,
As they left me forever, each making its bough!
If her tongue _had_ a tang sometimes more than was right,
Her new bark is worse than ten times her old bite.'

Now, Daphne-before she was happily treeified-
Over all other blossoms the lily had deified,
And when she expected the god on a visit
('Twas before he had made his intentions explicit),
Some buds she arranged with a vast deal of care,
To look as if artlessly twined in her hair,
Where they seemed, as he said, when he paid his addresses,
Like the day breaking through, the long night of her tresses;
So whenever he wished to be quite irresistible,
Like a man with eight trumps in his hand at a whist-table
(I feared me at first that the rhyme was untwistable,
Though I might have lugged in an allusion to Cristabel),-
He would take up a lily, and gloomily look in it,
As I shall at the--, when they cut up my book in it.

Well, here, after all the bad rhyme I've been spinning,
I've got back at last to my story's beginning:
Sitting there, as I say, in the shade of his mistress,
As dull as a volume of old Chester mysteries,

[...] Read more

poem by James Russell Lowell
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Feeling Out Of Sorts?

Feeling out of sorts these days?
Want to know what you can do?
Need help? Here are 50 ways,
Maybe you'll benefit from a few

ROTMS

SYMPTOMS OF SPIRITUAL AWAKENING

1. Changing sleep patterns: restlessness, hot feet, waking up two or three times a night. Feeling tired after you wake up and sleepy off and on during the day.
There is something called the Triad Sleep Pattern that occurs for many: you sleep for about 2-3 hours, wake up, go back to sleep for another couple of hours, wake again, and go back to sleep again. For others, the sleep requirements have changed. You can get by on less sleep.
Lately I have been experiencing huge waves of energy running into my body from the crown. It feels good, but it keeps me awake for a long time, then subsides.

Advice: Get used to it. Make peace with it and don't worry about getting enough sleep (which often causes more insomnia) . You will be able to make it through the day if you hold thoughts of getting just what you need. You can also request your Higher Power to give you a break now and then and give you a good, deep night's sleep.

If you can't go back to sleep right away, use the waking moments to meditate, read poetry, write in your journal or look at the moon. Your body will adjust to the new pattern.

2. Activity at the crown of the head: Tingling, itching, prickly, crawling sensations along the scalp and/or down the spine. A sense of energy vibrating on top of the head, as if energy is erupting from the head in a shower. Also the sensation of energy pouring in through the crown, described as 'sprinkles'.

This may also be experienced as pressure on the crown, as if someone is pushing his/her finger into the center of your head. As I mentioned in #1, I have been experiencing huge downloads of energy through the crown.
In the past, I have felt more generalized pressure, as if my head is in a gentle vise. One man related that his hair stood on end and his body was covered with goosebumps.

Advice: This is nothing to be alarmed about. What you are experiencing is an opening of the crown chakra. The sensations mean that you are opening up to receive divine energy.

3. Sudden waves of emotion. Crying at the dropp of a hat. Feeling suddenly angry or sad with little provocation. Or inexplicably depressed. Then very happy. Emotional roller coaster. There is often a pressure or sense of emotions congested in the heart chakra (the middle of the chest) . This is not to be confused with the heart, which is located to the left of the heart chakra.

Advice: Accept your feelings as they come up and let them go. Go directly to your heart chakra and feel the emotion. Expand it outward to your all your fields and breathe deeply from the belly all the way up to your upper chest. Just feel the feeling and let it evaporate on its own. Don't direct the emotions at anyone.

You are cleaning out your past. If you want some help with this, say out loud that you intend to release all these old issues and ask your Higher Power to help you. You can also ask Grace Elohim to help you release with ease and gentleness. Be grateful that your body is releasing the see motions and not holding onto them inside where they can do harm.

One source suggests that depression is linked to letting go of relationships to people, work, etc. that no longer match us and our frequencies. When we feel guilty about letting go of these relationships, depression helps us medicate that pain.

4. Old 'stuff' seems to be coming up, as described above, and the people with whom you need to work it out (or their clones) appear in your life. Completion issues.

Or perhaps you need to work through issues of self-worth, abundance, creativity, addictions, etc. The resources or people you need to help you move through these issues start to appear.

Advice: Same as #3. Additionally, don't get too involved in analyzing these issues. Examining them too much will simply cycle you back through them over and over again at deeper and deeper levels. Get professional help if you need to and walk through it.

Do not try to avoid them or disassociate yourself from them. Embrace whatever comes up and thank it for helping you move ahead. Thank your Higher Power for giving you the opportunity to release these issues. Remember, you don't want these issues to stay stuck in your body.

5. Changes in weight. The weight gain in the US population is phenomenal. Other people may be losing weight.

[...] Read more

poem by Ray Lucero
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Poem Versus Prose

You do not like this poem
And I do not like your prose
Enough with your predicates
And your subjects
In this poem you will find
No commas and semicolons

This poem
Is armed with rhythms
Stanzas and shifts
This poem has no end
There are no colons
In this poem

Your prose is replete with nuances
This poem echoes
The plight of the oppressed
And dispossessed

In your prose I find parentheses
This poem speaks of life
Your prose can be edited
Cut this poem and it bleeds

You do not like this poem
And I do not like your prose
Prose has pauses and hyphens
Prose comes to a stop
This poem plugs images
Even in your head

Prose deals with fiction
And nonfiction
This poem can be heard
It can be felt
It speaks of hunger
Of hopelessness
Homelessness
It speaks of a bitter reality

You do not like this poem

poem by Buxton Shippy
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I can EMIT TIME

'I Can! ' EMIT TIME
Kindly Refer to Notes

.

.

This retourne shows how Time bright glows,
Inspiring plan Life offers man,
Maintains red rose, sustains verse, prose,
Egg, chicken, span, - ensure ‘I can! ’

TIME’s sum’s not dumb, repeating drum
Inspiring plan Life offers man,
May link ‘become’ through rule of thumb
EMIT true scan light once began.

The heart that sows is star that glows
In tune reel ran fed through rhyme’s fan,
Maintains red rose, sustains verse, prose,
Ends in well ran, begins “I can! ”

Time’s reel ebbs, flows, all comes and goes,
In caravan reversing scan
Much magic flows, touch insight knows,
Egg, chicken, span, - ensure ‘I can! ’

.

Egg, chicken, span, - ensure ‘I can! ’
Much magic flows, touch insight knows,
In caravan reversing scan, -
Time’s reel ebbs, flows, all comes and goes.

Ends in well ran, begins “I can! ”
Maintains red rose, sustains verse, prose,
In tune reel ran fed through rhyme’s fan, -
The heart that sows is star that glows.

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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One Step Ahead

Watch it
Watch it.
Watch it!
Go!
Rap:
Always gotta be one step ahead
You know where youre lying
When you make your own bed
Youll never end up in the red
So watch your step, one step ahead
Intro:
Energy up!
Bring the energy up!
On the double
Verse 1:
Steppin on toes is a common routine
Sneakin up from behind
You wont get anywhere
Dancin out of time
If youre living up to expectations
You may as well be dead
Gotta go for it - gotta go for it
Always gotta be one step ahead
So -
Chorus:
Dont calm down
Bring the energy up
Dont depend on lady luck
Cant walk - you just run instead
If you want to be one step ahead
Verse 2:
Look over your shoulder
And predict whats to come
Youre not feeling life if youre simply numb
So dont be dumb - grab the brass ring
You really cant depend on anything
Gotta make it happen all by yourself
Why rely on anyone else?
So-
Chorus
Dont calm down
Bring the energy up
Dont depend on lady luck
Cant walk - why not run instead?
If you wanna be one step, one step ahead
Bridge:
This dream is holding me tight
Keeping me up all night - oh
Its not out of reach - just out of sight
Do you think Ill get it?

[...] Read more

song performed by Debbie Gibson
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bio-Energy

Energy exists in different forms:
Thermal energy, electrical energy,
Magnetic energy, chemical energy,
Wind energy, solar energy and et al.
Bio-energy consists of chemical,
Thermal, electric, magnetic energy.
Bio-energy confines to bodies
And is distinct from their counterparts
That exist outside the living bodies
In that it as a unit cannot exist
Without the living mass in any way,
That it ceases when bodies disintegrate,
And that it transmits through reproduction.
Bio-energy is only expandable.

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Whats Mine Is Mine

Key:-
A - anita
R - ray
A: oh, oh, all right; oh, oh, allright
Oh, oh, all right; oh, oh, allright
Oh, oh, all right; oh, oh, allright
My property, my property
A: oh, oh, all right; oh, oh, allright
Oh, oh, all right; oh, oh, allright
R: whats mine is mine hold theres the line
Stop following me from the back all of the time
Theres one of me, one of a kind
Sorry Im first, excuse me do you mind
You wanna be the same and put me out of frame
I got my own style, so you must be insane
Yes theres something else you can find
So dont touch mine, whats mine is mine
A: why do you want to be like me?
Why do you want whats mine?
You know this is my property, babe, youre losing this time
You are wasting time and energy cause you just cant take whats mine
You better save your time and energy gotta get it out of your mind
Whats mine is mine!
R: step back, step back
A: whats mine is mine
Whats mine is mine
Youre wasting your time
R: step back, step back
A: whats mine is mine
Oh, oh, all right
R: dont waste your time and energy
Cause nobody in the world can be like me
Youre looking for something I already found
A smoother move, a better sound
Represent yourself as me, myself, and i
Make your own plan, come on and try!
Ideas nowadays are hard to find
But dont touch mine whats mine is mine!
A: why do you want to be like me?
Why do you want whats mine?
You know this is my property, babe, youre losing this time
You are wasting time and energy cause you just cant take whats mine
You better save your time and energy gotta get it out of your mind
Whats mine is mine!
A: oh....
R: whats mine is mine
Whats mine is mine
A: oh, oh, all right, oh, oh, all right, oh, oh, all right
My property, my property, oh, oh, all right, oh, oh, all right, oh, oh, all right
R: whats mine is mine

[...] Read more

song performed by 2 Unlimited
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Hi Nrg

(i. levine / f. trench)
High energy, your love is lifting me.
Oh, yeah...
High energy, your love is lifting me,
Lifting me high...high...
Oh, so high.
It was only last week when we first met,
And I was walking down the street.
You came up from behind me and I knew
That our eyes were gonna meet.
Thats when I fell into your arms,
Imagine my surprise.
I thought this only happened in fairy-tales,
Love hit me right between the eyes.
Ooh
High energy, your love is lifting me.
Oh, yeah...
High energy, your love is lifting me,
Lifting me high...high...
When you called me on the telephone,
You made my spirits rise.
Im glad the others didnt last;
Its a blessing in disguise.
Every time youre touching me,
It gives me such a thrill.
When I look deep into your eyes,
My heart just cant keep still.
Oh, no, no, no!
High energy, your love is lifting me.
Ooh, yeah... high energy, your love is lifting me,
Lifting me high...high...(oh so high)
All the gold thats in fort knox,
Couldnt buy this happiness.
And with your love, I dont need money,
I dont need success.
I became a victim of a certain love attack.
It happened in the blink of an eye,
And theres no holding back.
No, no ,no ,no!
High energy, your love is lifting me. (oh, yeah)
High energy, your love is lifting me. (oh, yeah...high)
High energy, your love is lifting me. (oh, yeah)
High energy, your love is lifting me.
Lifting me high...

song performed by Erasure
Added by Lucian Velea
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Prose-Poetry

Once prose and poetry existed side by side
Two styles of literature, each with its bound
Jealously guarded by the literati
Lest prose masquerades as poetry.

The First World War smashed all fetters,
Soldiers wrote heart-rending poetic letters
To sweethearts, friends, fathers and mothers.
Newspapers published their anguish and horrors

The literati classed them as prose
And turned up their nose
At such a new trend of mongrelised poetry;
But the public gave it name and identity
Prose-poetry began to gain respectability.

Prose-poetry is a contradiction in terms,
An oxymoron; a paradox of many forms.
When well written, words flow as though in rhyme
Thought and syntax together dance with rhythm.

Some pen few lines haphazardly,
String words together arbitrarily,
Flit between thoughts randomly,
Structure their poems casually.

They want us to see them as thinkers
In fact, they are just wearing blinkers.
If only they could see their folly
They’d stop abusing prose-poetry.

poem by Isam Hussain
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Touch

Touch
One touch, spark, electricity
Flame burns hot and viciously
Microscopic, glittery
Catalystic energy
Time need glow so flickery
Scintillation, glittering
Ember, heat, so viciously
Pulsing flow
Electricity
(Touch)
Theres an energy
Washing chemically over me
I cant take it anymore
Like my destiny
Running endlessly over me
Youre the one Im waiting for
(Touch)
You know that we are the sun and the moon, the stars
Every time we touch
You know that we are the light
And the universe has been changed because we touched
Our sun flash so brilliantly
Incandescent energy
White hot luminosity
Phosphorus intensity
Radiate so vividly
Beam of light transmitting a
wave of Glowing, glimmery, shining flash
Every time we touch
Theres an energy
Washing chemically over me
I cant take it anymore
Like my destiny
Running endlessly over me
Youre the one Im waiting for
(Touch)
You know that we are the sun and the moon, the stars
Every time we touch
You know that we are the light
And the universe has been changed because we touched
One touch, spark, electricity
Flame burns hot and viciously
Microscopic, glittery
Catalystic energy
Time need glow so flickery
Scintillation, glittering
Ember, heat, so viciously
Pulsing flow
Electricity

[...] Read more

song performed by Darren Hayes
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Energy

Omnipresent is energy,
The whole of cosmos infinitely,
All pervasive is energy,
Even in a blade of grass subtly.

It has a thumping ware,
In the surrounding air;
It has a smug seat,
Even in the latent heat.

It has a space,
‘Midst the water's pace;
It surely exists,
In electricity's precincts.

It is certainly present,
In chemicals nascent;
It is in abundance,
In light's radiance.

It is in mechanization,
Of to-day's modernization;
It is now the resultant,
Of nucleus' bombardment.

When stored ‘tis potential energy,
When dynamic 'tis kinetic energy;
From one form or the other,
Energy can be transformed thither.

It can neither be created,
Nor can it be eradicated;
Energy has existed always,
In one form or the other ways.

Mankind has harnessed energy,
Depleting Earth of it's bounty;
Unbridled use of this holding,
Is depriving our progeny's belonging.

Let this energy song,
Loudly strike a gong;
For us to conserve energy,
And preserve it with synergy.

poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Think! Life is that Energy plant!

The eternal dance of Energy,
That can neither be created nor be destroyed,
Only enjoys its own dance!

One type of Energy to appear
and equivalent amount has to disappear!
Or if one energy disappear,
It appear in another form!

If one has to live, need energy in one form,
converting it to another form
Body is that dynamic system,
Which Consumes one form of it one form of Energy
To covert into another!

Body is that device that consumes
One form of matter to another form
Oxygen into carbon dioxide,
And then the carbohydrates,
Proteins, lipids, neucleotides and minerals,

Continuous conversion of one form
to another is that life!

For what purpose energy dances
Here on the stage of
universe?
Just think and just think, think,
who is thinking for what?

It is that consciousness that thinks? ..
And unconscious is watching and noting,
And what is the use of this dance,

When sum total of all energies is constant,
What is the use of converting, one form of Energy into another form,
What is that useful energy
Used as useful work?

Yes there is that greatest scientist
Behind all devices, the conversion engines,
Silently gathering information of own,
Converting that Unconscious part to consciousness,
Then gathering data to analyse and finally construct the powerful device,
Updating constantly,
Everythought, every information,
And the purpose of the dance may be,
Conversion of useless thoughts useful ones,

[...] Read more

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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English Bards and Scotch Reviewers (excerpt)

Time was, ere yet in these degenerate days
Ignoble themes obtain'd mistaken praise,
When sense and wit with poesy allied,
No fabl'd graces, flourish'd side by side;
From the same fount their inspiration drew,
And, rear'd by taste, bloom'd fairer as they grew.
Then, in this happy isle, a Pope's pure strain
Sought the rapt soul to charm, nor sought in vain;
A polish'd nation's praise aspir'd to claim,
And rais'd the people's, as the poet's fame.
Like him great Dryden pour'd the tide of song,
In stream less smooth, indeed, yet doubly strong.
Then Congreve's scenes could cheer, or Otway's melt--
For nature then an English audience felt.
But why these names, or greater still, retrace,
When all to feebler bards resign their place?
Yet to such times our lingering looks are cast,
When taste and reason with those times are past.
Now look around, and turn each trifling page,
Survey the precious works that please the age;
This truth at least let satire's self allow,
No dearth of bards can be complain'd of now.
The loaded press beneath her labour groans,
And printers' devils shake their weary bones;
While Southey's epics cram the creaking shelves,
And Little's lyrics shine in hot-press'd twelves.
Thus saith the Preacher: "Nought beneath the sun
Is new"; yet still from change to change we run:
What varied wonders tempt us as they pass!
The cow-pox, tractors, galvanism and gas,
In turns appear, to make the vulgar stare,
Till the swoln bubble bursts--and all is air!
Nor less new schools of Poetry arise,
Where dull pretenders grapple for the prize:
O'er taste awhile these pseudo-bards prevail;
Each country book-club bows the knee to Baal,
And, hurling lawful genius from the throne,
Erects a shrine and idol of its own;
Some leaden calf--but whom it matters not,
From soaring Southey down to grovelling Stott.

Behold! in various throngs the scribbling crew,
For notice eager, pass in long review:
Each spurs his jaded Pegasus apace,
And rhyme and blank maintain an equal race;
Sonnets on sonnets crowd, and ode on ode;
And tales of terror jostle on the road;
Immeasurable measures move along;
For simpering folly loves a varied song,
To strange mysterious dulness still the friend,

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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Complementary viewpoints for friend Chandra

Philosophy and poetry
are not completely different.
Each represents a way to see
What is not always evident.

Philosophers and poets try
to understand the universe.
The answers which they can supply.
Expressed in turgid prose or verse.

Philosophers can be abstruse
and difficult to understand
Because of how they phrase their views.
I don’t dismiss them out of hand.

I much prefer the poets verse
To endless reams of complex prose.
I do not think I am perverse
Simplicity I must suppose.

Is really what appeals to me.
the poets seek to entertain
and yet express with clarity.
Philosophers try to explain.

Their reasoning in great detail.
They just succeed in boring me
Their efforts are to no avail
I will admit quite openly

I simply cannot spare the time
To plough through densely written prose.
But I find poetry sublime
I like the way it ebbs and flows.

The insight that a poet shows
can entertain and educate.
Philosophers try to impose
their views, discouraging debate.

Which does not sit too well with me.
Folks can’t stand being patronised
and will rebel instinctively.
A fact that poets recognise.

They are content to share their thoughts.
With anyone who chooses to
read the verses they have wrought.
Which may express a different view

[...] Read more

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Who stands with me?

True poets write in meter.
Not because they think it’s neater
but because the flow is sweeter
When their words are read aloud
as they perform before the crowd.
Their poems pass the acid test.

Prose writers do not choose to rhyme.
They see it as a waste of time.
Although their word choice is sublime.
Without meter it is prose,
not poetry as they suppose.
Their definition I contest.

Poetic prose it’s plain to see.
Can not be classed as poetry.
I can accept you disagree.
I know I have a biased view
I think I am entitled to
Decide which one I like the best.

I choose meter every time
Preferably with lines that rhyme.
I find such poetry sublime.
Though I enjoy well written prose.
Each to his own I must suppose
So write the way that suits you best.

I am old fashioned I admit
and not one whit ashamed of it.
I do not find rules inhibit.
Free expression of my views
They merely mean I have to choose
the words that will express them best

Free form, free verse, poetic prose.
Are methods other writers chose
as being fit for their purpose.
To rebel against fixed form.
Which was regarded as the norm.
Just to be different from the rest.

But fashions change and now free form
Must be regarded as the norm.
I see no reason to conform.
I choose to write my poetry
In the old way that pleases me.
A lonely voice raised in protest.

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Dear Lorca

Dear Lorca,

These letters are to be as temporary as our poetry is to be permanent. They will establish the bulk, the wastage that my sour-stomached contemporaries demand to help them swallow and digest the pure word. We will use up our rhetoric here so that it will not appear in our poems. Let it be consumed paragraph by paragraph, day by day, until nothing of it is left in our poetry and nothing of our poetry is left in it. It is precisely because these letters are unnecessary that they must be written.
In my last letter I spoke of the tradition. The fools that read these letters will think by this we mean what tradition seems to have meant lately—an historical patchwork (whether made up of Elizabethan quotations, guide books of the poet’s home town, or obscure bits of magic published by Pantheon) which is used to cover up the nakedness of the bare word. Tradition means much more than that. It means generations of different poets in different countries patiently telling the same story, writing the same poem, gaining and losing something with each transformation—but, of course, never really losing anything. This has nothing to do with calmness, classicism, temperament, or anything else. Invention is merely the enemy of poetry.
See how weak prose is. I invent a word like invention. These paragraphs could be translated, transformed by a chain of fifty poets in fifty languages, and they still would be temporary, untrue, unable to yield the substance of a single image. Prose invents—poetry discloses.
A mad man is talking to himself in the room next to mine. He speaks in prose. Presently I shall go to a bar and there one or two poets will speak to me and I to them and we will try to destroy each other or attract each other or even listen to each other and nothing will happen because we will be speaking in prose. I will go home, drunken and dissatisfied, and sleep—and my dreams will be prose. Even the subconscious is not patient enough for poetry.
You are dead and the dead are very patient.

Love,
Jack

poem by Jack Spicer
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Double Helix Abecedarian - Xylophonic Resonance He Licks Enigmatic

XYLOPHONIC RESONANCE HE LICKS ENIGMATIC
Kindly refer to notes. and see Temptations and Poetic Pizza Extravaganza below :)

Xylophonic Resonance
double helix abecedarian

The first line begins with A and ends with Z
the next line begins with Z and ends with A
The next line begins with B and ends with Y
The next line begins with Y and ends with B
The next line begins with C and ends with X
The next line begins with X and ends with C

A to Z top down A to Z bottom up

All fizzle, finish frazzled, launched with fizZ.
Zero dreams teem when spirit seems at seA
Because most adepts of philosophY
Yearn for zenith seldom dwell on ebB,
Carpe diem value, seeking sea, sun, seX.
Xylem tree of life’s cannibalistiC
Desires corrupt deeds most men seW,
With survival’s urge soon lost indeeD.
Events churn causal patterns, AsimoV
Viewed clearly, took as starship journey cuE
Finding worlds which may appeal to yoU,
Unknown reader from beyond Time’s gulF -
Great divide between those past, those lefT -
Time travellers peruse these lines to sinG
High praise of poets who’ll know no more springS.
Spontaneousl prose poem picks pensive patH
In patter pattern, feet dance to empoweR.
Rhythm harmonious, need no alibI,
Joins sense, style versatile, from mind's H.Q.,
Questions seeks, finds answers. Soujourn’s hadJ
Knowledge acquires to share more than to keeP,
Pipes clear to others drifting through the darK.
Lark sings dawn’s welcome song, and each man’s taO
Opens connections, on life’s sea a-saiL
Ma d, sad, glad, bad, for threescore years and teN
Never certain of his mortal aiM,
Nor sure to gain posthumous fame, acclaiM,
Making ends meet in hope to rise agaiN
On judgement day should trust and faith prevaiL.
Life-spans increase but trite hullabaloO
Prepares too few for winding sheet, corpse starK,

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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