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               [ Mind Warp  -  Volume #1, Issue #4, File #015 ]
                   [ "Miscellaneous Poetry" by Dark Horse ]
            
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                            Miscellaneous Poetry
                                [Dark Horse]



Midnight blues:

2nd chorus

a knick,
    a scratch
in an old wooden speaker

has more to say than the evening news.

A person, place, thing, or idea
stamped there for eternity, posterity.
A movie in solid state.
15 min of forever:
    cut out of time and
squeezed into wood.



Just something in my notebook.  The whole midnight blues(2nd Chorus) has to do
with being in the middle of Jack Kerouac's Mexico City Blues ~242 Choruses~
and liking it alot, mimicking a bit of the style.  Anyway this was written
after a page-long incoherent essay about potential and kinetic ideas.

it's 2:54 am, i have to get up at 10 or earlier to take a practice psat; in
other words I'll fail it, but that's ok.  ain't no thang...

-dark.horse






Midnight Blues
3rd Chorus

on the rooftop,
Arms autstreached
Back arched to catch the
         falling rain
face to the sky
  waiting for
     the lightning
     to take me




India

India the cover exclaims
the country? probably
but maybe, just maybe
the girl

a chapter for her hair, sparkling dirty blonde
30 pages for her smile
20 for her eyes(bright blue)
40 for her thoughts
someday her for me

India: not quite a love poem,
but more than a rememberance



Wrote both of those during the storms today, I feel like i should expand on
them at some point.  Tell me what you think.

-dark.horse




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for all intents and purposes this is a poem
-------------------------------------------

this
is a poem. whatever that means. am i supposed
to spit out meaning and put life
into a free verse box and envelop it with the
glistening metallic wrapping paper of a silver tongue?

i don't know. what's a poem?

is this
a photograph in words? and of what? of a feeling? of
truth? of hope? of despair? happiness?
or of everything?

i don't know. what's a poem? is this really a poem?

this
is just me. thinking, feeling, hoping, writing.
that might be a poem. i'm not sure. i always thought
poems were more than that. in what way?

i don't know.

what's a poem?

is this
really enough? is this me, on this page? i mean the poem me
the whichever me is the me that means poetry, whatever
that might be, and if there really is a poem in me. is there?

i don't know.

-- but i do know that long after this page has been shoved away
into some drawer or thrown, by an absentminded or overcritical me
into the shiny black maw of the wastepaper basket,
i find myself remembering every single line

                             ? a ? l ? e ? x ? a ?





What is a poem?
(A response in free verse)

a poem
is just thoughts

a picture of thoughts :
a picture of your mind

This? this is not a poem
it is a spark that flows from my brain
to the screen.

The picture will fade before it can develop
a reverse-Polaroid,
the image makes way for new sparks
new brains
new ideas

This is a fluid thought in a static world
unreachable but for a screen
and nothing without it...

-dark.horse



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