Poetry

I don’t get poetry.

Don’t get me wrong… I’m sure it’s a legitimate way of expressing yourself, and it’s a fine creative art form and everything, but I just don’t get it. I really don’t get the poetry with the abstract metaphors that expect you to extract meaning from their depths. I like literature that is clear. I want what I understand to be more or less what everyone else understands. I don’t want to think the poem is about the weather, and have an English Lit student come and tell me it’s about the plight of cows in Nevada. That just doesn’t make sense to me.

Now that everything is clarified, I have a theory that some (not all, or even a majority) of this ‘abstract’ poetry is a farce. Here’s my attempt at recreating it, and I’m sure that someone would (in due course of time, after skipping all this preamble that gives away the whole thing) interpret it as something deep and meaningful, which is clearly not what I intend.

I present to you :

Catharsis

Cherry red roses blossoming in the sea,

Wines, cigarettes and bereft countryside.

After all, wasn’t it you who said

‘Those who can, shall see the light’ ?

Haunting words

Like wolves at twilight

Bereft of the cleft

Argue about the colour of their blood

Surely, Gandhi had a point?

Open your mind too much,

And your brain will fall out.

Delusion is the presumption of intelligence.

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