Tuesday, October 12, 2004

A prompt and a poem and sex

OK, actually no sex, but I had to throw something in there to grab your attention. But as promised...I do have a prompt, and a poem for your pleasure (notice the sexual reference).


Go somewhere normal...like a coffee shop, and notice something out of the ordinary, but at the same time bold enough to stand out to everyone. For example, tonight, I was having a cup of coffee, and in walked a 5 (or so) year old kid, dressed in full cowboy get up. I'm talking leather jacket, cowboy hat, jeans, and boots. You have to notice something that cute. Now, try to notice something out of the ordinary about the thing that is out of the ordinary. Try to notice something small about the thing, that not everyone else will notice. Again, for example...the cowboy kid...was carrying a tippy cup. A cowboy with a tippy cup! Now if that isn't funny shit...I don't know what is. Let something like that be your inspiration to get going on a poem.

This is a work in progress...I just wrote it tonight, and only have it in short hand, but here you go...

caffeinated Zen Garden

There is something appealing
about rearranging furniture
in a cafe. A strange
taboo art form, the cultivating
of a caffeinated zen garden.
I wonder if the sofa will caress
the old easter colored man
to sleep faster
if it is facing that way
or this. Will the concentration
be pure if the table
is oriented thusly?
If the tables are pulled
will the chess game end
on the tenth move or
the thirtyfirst?
Or will the intensity
of each pawn float
away if the tables are left
as they are now? Polished
wooden enemies engaged
in a furious battle, a war
too long
for even Helen to instigate.
Victors standing still
and lonely contemplating
those that fell
silently into the vast
abyss between my table
and theirs. Or will the music
the corduroy man is writing
be busier if there are four
chairs at his table
rather than three?
Do the spots
closer to the window
seduce thoughts to wander?
Spinning through the fall air
and hastily evaporating
into a monogamous mixture
of moonlight
and cigarette smoke?
And if so, do the seats
in back, preciously guarded
from the disturbances
of natural air
and light force strict
attentiveness on the ramifications
of calculus, or the understated
voice of Rosencrantz?
And would I be infected
by a poem if I had instead
chosen to face
the piano? Or would Lady Muse
have urged me to justify
this silence
with an inspired
performance of chopsticks?


Blogger KTB said...

willie, where did you come from?? as k says all the time, you're our poetry miracle. i love you, love the subject line, love the prompt, love the poem, love your heart... damn i can't wait to see you. i expect you to keep posting these fabulous writings and musings all the way from new zealand starting next month. drunken love to you my friend...

1:58 PM | Permalink  

Post a Comment

<< Home