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Ars Poetica is poetry written about
poetry!
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Ink
I
see things float in night
Marbles
suspended in mid-air
I open my mouth
the cool, roundness is never feeling
My skin is fine lined
paper thin
momentarily stationary
Marbles roll well on this smooth surface
go down hard to swallow
I'm dyeing with letters
three shades of blue
choking up the cap of preservation
My eyes have soaked the scenic route
become permanently retractable
Well ink stained iris
gliding from medium point
suspended in mid-stare
©
Catryce
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Deeper
I
had to write this for you
to let you know that I'm a poet
I knew you wouldn't have believed it otherwise
I don't blame you
really
for I seldom wear hats
and I've never read Keats
ffwith any true understanding
But you should have looked deeper
scanned through the pages
seen passed the frosted color panes
My windows -- always open
always aware of the air outside
I could have told you the world
ffiin
different words
shown you fifty stories
ffin
a two-chambered heart
I'm sorry if I'm not obvious
if I hide things beneath my clothes
but I thought you were deeper
that you'd know
ffthat
I'm a poet
©
Catryce
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The
Ciminal Rhyme
My
poetry
has gone bad
Moved to the wrong side of the tracks
It stays out all night
carries illegal weapons
and lies incessantly
And oh, it is deceptive
trading powdered-sugar
fffor an arsenic mix
tainting sweet poems
fffor a deadly effect
Please
don't believe any of this
My poetry
ffis bad
©
Catryce
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Flutter
He
flew in from Lindstrom
a cowering bird, slumped upon his shoulder
A bird that knew just when (and how)
to pluck my words from out his ear
I often wondered
how much of me was heard
I've often pondered the theory of birds
whether they're really not small, evolved dinosaurs
ffresponsible for extinction
or, merely a freak accident
which baffled Mother Nature
Could thought span and wing span
ffbear some connection?
And, with their beaks constant plucking
just how many words are stolen in mid-air?
Now, acknowledging that small or simple words
ffare stolen more readily
than their larger counter-parts
I stand proclaiming my admiration
ffin more articulate means...
Oh, masculine, Lindstrom homosapien
I profess my undying adoration
my unquenchable quest
my unsatiable appetite
my uncontested affection...
These words, he heard
Every syllable
keeping beat with the flutter of wings
Wings fff forcing air in
opposite directions
lifting the curse from deafened ears
It's important
that we know the rhythm
use words not so easily stolen
keep flutters fff on the
wings of birds
©
Catyce
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I
Read Poetry
Today,
I read poetry
one poem after another
filling every corner and crevice
in our cluttered house with words
Reading Yeats, Browning, Shakespeare
even poems by poets I've never known
and repeating certain lines, verses, stanzas
two or three times when I feel the urge
Today, I read poetry
until my tongue gets tangled
on the edge of yellowed pages
and my eyes turn every written word
inside-out and sideways
and nothing seems real except the feeling
of old, thin trees breathing in my hands
Today, I read poetry
until fevers hit, skin changes
and little red bumps raise on the
flesh of my children
making them hostile, cranky
and itching uncontrollably
from each word that infects their ears
Today, I read poetry
until I am alone
Driving my lover to the verge of insanity
until he drives himself away
mumbling something about
"homes", "depots", "pre-fabricated pipe"
and how it might take a long time
to find his way back to our door
Today, I read poetry
until I sit, still and quiet
in a room that holds no assonance, no meter
no imagery or metaphor
and I revel in serenity
that poems leave the soul
Today, I read poetry
and find some peace at home
©
Catryce
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