Hey, I wanna go where all the souls are old,
where the newspapers wrapped around my feet
are not printed with painful ink.
I wanna climb inside the songs of the stray dog
howling moon struck on the outskirts of town.
I’m feeling kinda heart wasted these days,
sort of like a smashed bottle of good brandy
in a whorehouse of sobriety.
The corporate generals walk through my front door daily,
slice out my tongue and accuse me of trying
to overrun their blistering bombastic missiles
with messages that warn of unnecessary tombstones.
But there are no rules in poetry or rock and roll,
so serve me up a breakfast of Rimbaud
and Bobby Dylan . . .
I need to replenish the search engine of my mind . . .
A contest entry
- Because I'm bored and want to give away some points [NOW OPEN TO PW's] by Dovina.
750 points, ended January 3, 31 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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MR C
I love it! Howl on Brother!
K
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I like this. It has a nice feeling to it. The opening line catches me right away and draws me in.
"I wanna climb inside the songs of the stray dog
howling moon struck on the outskirts of town. "
I absolutely love that line. It makes me want to do that, to feel carefree, do my heart's desires.
Thanks for your entry! -
ahhh mister tamborine man your song is one with try zeros, grand grand grand indeed, so we all become the internet service of ghosts and mirrors and the intangible light may call us incomprehensable, yet the canvas road leads and each moment such as these is ever more the bounty, intoxicating the norm and river rapid, so flow on dear poet...
w fire works
-jas
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Very well done Marc. Kinda reminded me of Carlin or Lenny Bruce (without the four letter words)
Marvelously done!
Marianne
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Love this one
"where the newspapers wrapped around my feet
are not printed with painful ink."
That part made me think about how I never watch the news anymore. The world has become an awful place and I think: how did it come to this? You look back 10, 20, 30 (well, not that far for me
) years and it seems life was almost too easy.
Damn straight, sobriety is a whore; but you sell it well!
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is there any media left that isnt printed in "painful ink"?
whorehouse of sobriety.. dayum where do get such stark imagery. dig it as always
nice commentary on the futilty of war and "civil"ization.
what a breakfast indeed man.
honestly, I thought it a shame to fizzle out with that last line to such a lively write.
I enjoyed the brilliance of your creative juices here, the imagery, the statement, your unique panache. That skin still has plenty of rhythem hoss.
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Hey Adrian . . . gotta scribble shorter pieces once in awhile lol . . . I tend to get a wee bit long winded at times. I have this fear of becoming redundent with the longer ones, sometimes I feel that I am repeating myself, but what the well . . . it's just the muse trying to blow a fuse . . .
Marc
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