|
Listen, Real Poetry Doesn't Say Anything
By Jim Morrison
Listen, real poetry doesn't say anything, it just ticks off the possibilities. Opens all doors. You can walk through any one that suits you.
...and that's why poetry appeals to me so much-
because it's so eternal. As long as there are people, they can remember words and combinations of words. Nothing else can survive a holocaust but poetry and songs. No one can remember an entire novel. No one can describe a film, a piece of sculpture, a painting, but so long as there are human beings, songs and poetry can continue.
If my poetry aims to achieve anything, it's to deliver people from the limited ways in which they see and feel. meow |
 |
|
Shamelss Guestbook Plug If you look down at the bottom of the page, you'll see a little link that says "Sign My Guestbook". I guess none of you know how to use that link becuase that poor book is almost completely empty!!! |
| |
|
I woke early one morning,
The earth lay cool and still,
When suddenly a tiny bird,
Pearched on my window sill,
He sang a song so lovely
So carefree and so gay,
That slowley all my troubles,
Began to slip away.
He sang of far off places,
Of laughter and of fun,
It seemed his very trilling,
Brought up the morning sun.
I stirred beneath the covers,
Crept slowly out of bed,
Then gently shut the window,
And crushed his fucking head.
I'm not a morning person. |
|
|
|
|
