Some other SDF gopherposters have shared poetry, so in the spirit of being
positive and productive, here's my second "real" poem. (What is real, what
is art, What Et Al.) Performed three times, only once recorded, a true and
honest autobiography and...
The History of the Artist Explained (1)
Oct 21-28, 2011
The very first poem I ever wrote
That I was willing to admit to
Was just after high school, in adult education.
My creative writing teacher was a lovely pleasant older lady
Who encouraged our vocation
And our, shall we say, artistic tendencies.
In one word: Masturbation.
Well, we obliged her to the best of our ability
Like Mark Twain's monkey: Vigorously. Gleefully. Enthusiastically. Whole-heartedly.
And like everything else in that class, my poem was
Half-truth, half-horseshit, mostly horseshit
And not so much my own style, as it was the aping of an idol.
Lawrence Ferlinghetti was his name
And I thought of him like unto a god
Even though it turns out like Bukowski
He was just another sod.
Of course he's still alive, so to say more
Might be courting libel.
That's always one of the risks you take
When you topple them off the pedestal.
Well, in between then and now I got older, sadder, a little bit wiser
A whole lot angrier, more disgusted, less willing to compromise
And one of the things I learned, besides that sometimes
A poem really is better when it rhymes
Is that to be honest, it has to come from the heart
And I'm sure you can guess that first one weren't nothing of the sort.
But this time the pressure built up like a pimple, it had to come out
Somehow, or risk my head exploding.
Even though I was still just imitating.
Not a cry for help, but a shout out
A middle finger of defiance
Defending my corner of the universe.
And that made all the difference, this time.
So if everyone has one real true poem in them
Then I'm proud to call that one --
Mine.
