Life as Rhythmic Variation

So I’m not one for poetry but talking to some Shakespearian actors got me pumped about his iambic pentameter. This is not pentameter nor iambic. There isn’t really an underlying theme, some of it doesn’t follow the beat, and some of it doesn’t even rhyme. This is essentially the most basic form of broken poetry one could write. 

Life is a protagonist, evil is hurst. Inevitable times mate with evitable minds, and so we seek comfort in what we know, and to which we aspire.

Solid dreams laid on downtrodden wings, gravity makes no appeal. Floating in space or floating in grace, we convince ourselves something is real. An infinite world filled with indefinite things, how do we cope with circular rings? Belief draws power while doom rules the hour, yet we go on whilst the manatee sings.

If the future were now would we understand how, the depth of perception has changed? It’s easy to breath cuz in the future we’ll see, that nobody saw with much range. Hindsight’s a bitch and love is the witch, that curses us all to care. If we lived for ourselves and nobody else, what burden could we possibly bear?

A German, a Russian, a thematic discussion on butterflies, twinkles and boots. Generosity meets underneath tired feet, in an effort to please satin suits. A bomb in the air reads “handle with care” as it hurls itself down to the ground. If the mothers all die and the children all cry, will the verb take over the noun?  

A man rolls his eyes and the whole world cries, out in dramatic succession. Give praise to the son as the war has been won, yet nobody knows the lesson. But we’ve been told what to think and given plenty to drink, so we nod and agree without question.

A feeling of doubt killed by hours of drought, we all expect change to be near.

There’s something so strong about something that’s wrong, but right is a relative curse. They try so hard to add beans to their lard, but the flavor only gets worse. In a place far away where daffodils play, in a breeze untouched by corruption. Fate penetrates deep to awaken their sleep, so they await inevitable destruction. 

How long must we wait and how much must we bait, till the fish all jump in our net? Still we cast them all out like they’re some common trout, in an act they’ll never forget. So we go on our way living life day by day, pushing and shoving in tune. Until one starts to shout and our world closes out, and the cow jumps over the moon.

Superstars set their gaze on a planet filled maze, wondering how they all came to be. If they broke into song we’d all sing along, as the land’s taken over by sea.  Neither bridge nor a house nor a common field mouse, has the power to stop a strong storm. But a cat and an ass can shatter said glass, and return to milk set lukewarm. 

As far as postings go I haven’t forgotton about the blog, I’m merely taking some time to complete other, less developed, projects.

3 Responses to “Life as Rhythmic Variation”
  1. Juliana Baldwin says:

    As a spoken word and slam poet, I’m all about this post. Also, (not that you even need to do this) but if you wanted to, this whole thing could be easily made into iambic pentameter with some tweaks here and there. I was even re-writing it in my head to fully fit the form. It’s a sick piece, thanks for busting out your rhymes.

  2. hmunro says:

    You’ve totally outdone yourself! Lots of wonderful imagery … and lots of deep, thought-provoking ideas, too. Wonderful piece, Kluckmeister!

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