deepundergroundpoetry.com
Making Ground
I see my son new today. See a beauty that is hard to claim;
already too old to be perfect, but remarkable.
I walk my dogs up the small woods, as every afternoon.
There's no temperature, but there's sun. The birds
for the first time in years are singing clearly
and I am child in the woods. Reconnected.
I walk out onto the field and the wind hitting me
is that of a coast, and I wish to hear the gulls quibble again.
The end of the field is a farm, and the smell of manure.
I wonder how long, 'til I'm romancing cow shit.
Published 28th Sep 2013
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28th Sep 2013 8:25pm
being that I believe you will need words for it
then the romance for it
won't take long
cow shit ain't so bad, mid romancing it myself right now
then the romance for it
won't take long
cow shit ain't so bad, mid romancing it myself right now
There aren't words for everything, and that's one of the many areas in which the poet's arrogance fails poetry: not trying to capture something, but to share what you had through words. Ridiculous really.
Still. Here we are. Cheers, man.
(Was gonna call it: "who the fuck writes about hearing the birds")
Still. Here we are. Cheers, man.
(Was gonna call it: "who the fuck writes about hearing the birds")
Anonymous
- Edited 28th Sep 2013 9:45pm
28th Sep 2013 9:44pm
I too went for a walk in the woods today. It actually occurred to me that cow shit, bird shit, dog shit, any old shit is the only thing in this world that guarantees itself to be consistently new. Which doesn't shade much colour into the miracle of life.
Anyway. Carry on.
Thanks for the read.
Anyway. Carry on.
Thanks for the read.
29th Sep 2013 1:19pm
These series of events happened a few days ago, and I re-wrote(simplified) the shit I'd written that day.
(and new shit? not after a few weeks constipation)
Anyway, you carry on. You're welcome.
(and new shit? not after a few weeks constipation)
Anyway, you carry on. You're welcome.
29th Sep 2013 2:18pm
lottsa
birdy shit horsey shit doggy shit on
'my' sandy edge-o-paradoxen paradise...
even
carrion! tis part of d'Beauty-of-it-All----
ye 'captured' yOur end of 'it' most swell, as ye most always do----
doodoo carrion!
birdy shit horsey shit doggy shit on
'my' sandy edge-o-paradoxen paradise...
even
carrion! tis part of d'Beauty-of-it-All----
ye 'captured' yOur end of 'it' most swell, as ye most always do----
doodoo carrion!
29th Sep 2013 2:52pm
Yeah, everything dead, old and new. Rub it all together. Or something. Cheers, Dan.
29th Sep 2013 2:21pm
cow shite breeds groovy.....
in the long run what's one fecal matter compared to the next?
it's all about the wipe.....
in the long run what's one fecal matter compared to the next?
it's all about the wipe.....
29th Sep 2013 2:54pm
25th Nov 2013 8:34am
Ohhhh, I love for you that you felt that way, after seeing your son ... that though he already wasn't new, the world was, for that walk at least.
"The birds for the first time in years are singing clearly and I am child in the woods." Rather than say you heard the birds for the first time in years, you say instead that the birds themselves were at last singing clearly. As though the world was changed, not you. And followed immediately by your becoming a child yourself ... classic.
"The birds for the first time in years are singing clearly and I am child in the woods." Rather than say you heard the birds for the first time in years, you say instead that the birds themselves were at last singing clearly. As though the world was changed, not you. And followed immediately by your becoming a child yourself ... classic.
