Obligation of existing: philosophy through bad poetry

schopenhauer1 March 17, 2019 at 21:11 1900 views 5 comments

Bums sitting on the curbside of road
At the bus stop
Remnants o’ chicken bone
By the ragged liquor shop
Waiting for the loan
Till the last drop
The Aqualung moan

Day in day out
The past is not now
It’s not what present is about
Good times had
Are now shutout
Start again with the same
To keep from handout
Sisyphus reminders are lame

Blurry-eyed tedium
No flow going on
Is it the setting or the medium?
What origins is this con
The mind isn’t even numb
Not mindless yawn
Nor creative enthraldom
Rather it’s broken tool going on

Comments (5)

Nils Loc March 17, 2019 at 21:14 #265870 0 likes

You're supposed to post poetry in the Lounge.

schopenhauer1 March 17, 2019 at 21:14 #265871 0 likes

Reply to Nils Loc
Ok. If a moderator thinks it belongs there, I’m fine with it.

Valentinus March 17, 2019 at 21:49 #265882 0 likes

The agreement to a common understanding
Broke out into a fight
That allowed the trucks to get away with the loot
With few clues to point at what actually went
Down.

T Clark March 18, 2019 at 01:09 #265931 0 likes

Peace, resting like a yoke on my shoulders.
I feel the weight pushing me down,
The harness pulling me back.
I feel my legs start to strain against the ground
The way I imagine a plowhorse feels
Waiting to feel his master snap the reins.

Nils Loc March 18, 2019 at 02:00 #265945 0 likes

The Ape Shit Linguist
Languishes on.

Behold the wearying locutions of your letters, sand grains texturing wordy landscapes.

Read the desert stretch of your sentences as miles of my ersatz grief.

For crap sake, shut up!

The buffoonery of your babble
Of bullshit, in blasting heat or brittling cold, does not console me.

Mirages of a quiet hope gleam on the horizon.

The sea is the same, fathoms full of salty tears.

Butt also... (not "but also")

Lucky comforted on our motoring mounts, ships and caravans, skin upholstered arm chairs.

Ride on Lucky,
Ride on...

For the ass is sore and Sophia is snoring...

Awake Sophia!

Awake fragile pigeon of my heart. I seek thy company, to distract me from my mind troubles and the void of the desert.