"Darby's poetry refreshes the parts that other poetry cannot reach."
— Guinness Guide to Modern Writing
"Utter rubbish. Do not read this blog posting."
— Reflecting Light Literary Advisory Board
"I get tired of either sense or nonsense if I am kept very continuously to either and like my mind to undulate between the two as it likes best."
— Walter Bagehot (1858)
Trackless Waste in Heaven
— Guinness Guide to Modern Writing
"Utter rubbish. Do not read this blog posting."
— Reflecting Light Literary Advisory Board
"I get tired of either sense or nonsense if I am kept very continuously to either and like my mind to undulate between the two as it likes best."
— Walter Bagehot (1858)
Trackless Waste in Heaven
We climbed in through the window, to the hall of the Carnival mask
Where a China dog sat patiently striking its chimes,
We knew what to do without having to ask.
It was only a step to sun-blessed climes.
Aida watched in wonder as the pyramids turned blue.
Yes, Aida watched in wonder as the pyramids turned blue.
She said, I’ve seen great Hathor’s shadow, but this is brilliant too.
You looked through all the records, then went into a decline
While gladiators whistled and led a pet parade,
We heard rumors of a glory that was neither yours nor mine.
It was only a sound the astronomers made.
A zen monk with a tuba warned me away from this place.
Yes, a zen monk with a tuba warned me away from this place.
I said, I’m only passing through while looking for an honest face.
I put shells on the table and polished the silver plate
Arranging the chairs where damaged saints sat,
Knowing the future was already too late.
I was only the wheel you fell asleep at.
Where a China dog sat patiently striking its chimes,
We knew what to do without having to ask.
It was only a step to sun-blessed climes.
Aida watched in wonder as the pyramids turned blue.
Yes, Aida watched in wonder as the pyramids turned blue.
She said, I’ve seen great Hathor’s shadow, but this is brilliant too.
You looked through all the records, then went into a decline
While gladiators whistled and led a pet parade,
We heard rumors of a glory that was neither yours nor mine.
It was only a sound the astronomers made.
A zen monk with a tuba warned me away from this place.
Yes, a zen monk with a tuba warned me away from this place.
I said, I’m only passing through while looking for an honest face.
I put shells on the table and polished the silver plate
Arranging the chairs where damaged saints sat,
Knowing the future was already too late.
I was only the wheel you fell asleep at.
2 comments:
I can make no more withering critsisim of your poetry then you are quite capable of doing yourself.
But to be honest, I've heard worse.
A now former girlfriend once invited me to attend a 'poetry slam' in a downtown Orlando non-chain coffee house.
Take my word for it, you don't want to do that.
That needs to be banned by the Geneva Convention as a form of torture.
It was 90 minutes of bitter lesbian poetry recited by bitter lesbians. Truely painful to experience.
YIH,
You will never again need to prove your self-control and ability to hold up under extreme duress.
I'm not sure, and reserve the right to change my mind, but I think I'd rather be waterboarded than subjected to "90 minutes of bitter lesbian poetry recited by bitter lesbians." Or even better lesbians. Or even better lesbian poetry recited by better lesbians.
You are a survivor.
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