The Scent of Inspiration...

The Upturned Palms of Literacy.

 

This thing we know,

To know; To own.

It’s mine, this mind from which these

words

leap forth with fervor,

server to her,

who is their master. Faster on,

Oh Lettered Heralds, ‘pon feet

of fettered gossamer. The last of

honesty in fading, dimming light of

morning, mourning what

was lost in trusting, doing what

is known and must be harkened

on in dusted trussing,

crumbling down up the

hearth.

Twisting, curling graying memories

pressed to paper with self same

lettering, kneeling for the eyes of

better men. Women in their shifting

shifts, with linguistic whips and swishing

hips of seductive language, hang their

pains with nails naught of copper, but of

literary fodder. All the hotter

grows the ember. Better, then,

to not remember but instead to

pass asunder, to the one who’s fingers

fester with the urge to push out words.

Produce the mind for purchase while the purchasers

lose their own. Home to ownership,

owning ships that sail the public sea,

 seeming seaworthy, and sliding softly into

the upturned palms of literacy. They

may all read the thoughts that sit, placated

on the pallid page.

Pustules of protest,

capsules of contemplation, dressed in

consternation,

alliteration, all accoutrements for a

coup de tat, housed in a box with a bow.

And arrow, pointed pointedly the way the

compass shows, too loud to hear,

to soft to ignore, the shower falling to the

floor.

The owner, owning.

Selling what is owned.

Moaning in libation to the

stationary on the table,

able to create and yet unable

to sate the hunger in the

belly of humanity: knowledge,

wisdom,

aNaRcHy in letters, all the better

not to remember?

But instead to

pass asunder, to the one who’s fingers

fester with the urge to push out

words.

 

For the first time, the reading this week actually inspired me to write poetry. I haven’t written like this in a while: as a result, not as a goal. I have found myself stuck in inspirational limbo. These readings were so very difficult for me to get through. See, I have been rehearsing non stop for the past month and a half or so and have been inundated with so much “script” that it has been difficult for me to keep up with my work the way I know I should be. But today is the first day in a long time that I have gotten out of class and actually have time to do HOMEWORK! yay? I think. So, I sat down in front of the computer screen, elated about the fact that I was going to fee so accomplished in just a few hours and found myself trudging through page after page of copyright crap. It began to make me feel so disheartened. Suddenly, words began to swim through my head. I recognized their oh-so-familiar smell immediately: it was the scent of inspiration. It felt so go to be able to write like that again that I did this blog with a smile. And all of this has been possible because of Copyright? Well, in a way, I would suppose that’s true. See, I just couldn’t help but the see the parallel between a four year old child on the playground and everyone else during the advent of Copyrights: mine, mine, mine! Now, I know it’s a bit necessary in order for people to earn their dues, I just grow tired of the human obsession with ownership. It’s everywhere. It’s unavoidable. And its just a bit annoying. But then again, if we didn’t have it, everything would just belong to everyone and then we’d all have whatever we need, whenever we needed it. But that would just be ludicrous in a capitalist society, wouldn’t it?