By  love enacted falsly, some are raped

Should we write in form to make a shape
Or let our minds run free, associate?
Such tangled webs within the mind  are draped

Oh, to run as free as antelopes
But from sharp tigers noone will escape
Can we  control , disarm  within a shape?

Love’s enacted falsely , making rape
Inside our  hearts shall we recover hope?
Such tangled webs the curtained mind  creates

Round the  marbled minds we  half dazed traipse
Wherever we go hunting, we’re too late
Can we  control  our fear  within a shape?

Collapsing faith cracks , can we concentrate
Or  from the deal , do we dissociate?
Such tangled webs  of mind  make ripe our hate

Now sex  compels but will can’t procreate
Can kindness smile  and friendship instigate?
Should we write in form when we love shape?
Our mingled maps  of  mind   might mangle   fate

Can love be obtained via injections?

Perspective ,proportion,projection
We need these for our own protection
But sometimes we fail
We are too frail
Can love be obtained via injections?

We  talk to our friends and our foes
Share our insights and our woes
Their point of view
Our thought will renew
We  learn   to  be kind when we’re low

 

 

Humour and poetry

img_20190510_163949https://www.poetryfoundation.org/harriet/2010/04/humor-and-poetry

Extract:

In 1993, I took a left turn one day out of my MFA program and found myself at the National Poetry Slam in San Francisco. There I discovered several poets who were funny for the sake of being funny. Particularly Hal Sirowitz from New York (“don’t stick your arm out the window, mother said” and Matt Cook from Milwaukee (“it was easy to write the Great American Novel, back when there were only five American novels”) Both poets initially delighted me and confounded me: There are no similes, a voice in my head said. What would Tom Lux (my first teacher) say? the voice continued. Despite my resistance, I believe those poets gave me a kind of permission to explore humor a little more vigorously in my second book, The Forgiveness Parade (1998), for “I thought the word loin and the word lion were the same thing. I thought celibate was a kind of fish”. Perhaps in that book there were places where I was too vigorous in my pursuit: looking back there are a few poems that are just a little too jokey somehow, a little one-dimensional.

I am becoming aware of how some humor can set a roadblock for the poetic speaker, making it impossible for the speaker to get back to a serious place. And how some other (less frequent) uses of humor can leave that door open. I want to leave that door open