Thursday, November 18, 2004

learning to listen, a prologue

Is it ironic that I spent half an hour here writing about my evening exercise in listening, and it was all swept away when I attempted to run a spell check? Not particularly ironic, I guess. Just frustrating.

Damn, I put some effort into that too. And now I'm too drowsy to recreate it. So, until I have the wherewithal to return and try again, I'll simply paste a very old poem of mine about quiet (well, the lack of it). I wrote it in response to an e.e. cummings poem. Do note that the title does not contain a misspelling or typo.

the Mystery Of stilness

vociferous space.
the relentless vestige
of battle.

tableTop chaos
wringing guts
(like fresh, wet boxers to be h
and crashes the thing
through the wall up the floor.

at the stop
a too-long cord -- wrapping dizzily among shags curling here Crinkling, twisting --
pretends be
the blackless shadow

too quiet.
now what? is beseeched.
no time for peace

© 1995 Corene Ellis Young

Also note that all poems written by me or my alterego, Corene, are open to interpretation. It's been a long time since I've taken up the pencil. Maybe it's time to make new sense out of new circumstances. The old sense seems senseless now.

What the hell am I saying? Man, I need sleep.

1 comment:

Josh said...

Blogger tip...write entries in Word or can save them to the desktop that way. When ready, cut and paste and post. I've lost COUNTLESS entries this same way. VERY frustrating!