BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,
BTRIPP
btripp

Well, isn't THAT amazing?

Two days, two poems ... considering that my output has been a poem a month or less for the past year or so, this is a notable occasion! Of course, it also points to the nature of my days. Poems get written when a) I've got a spare half hour or so, b) I'm away from home (computers & books), and c) I'm essentially alone (other riders on the subway or patrons in the restaurant don't count). Considering that I carry around my ittybitty notebook with me constantly (well, whenever I leave the house), it indicates that I have very little "downtime" of this sort for months on end. I, unfortunately, don't write well when there are other distractions, active or potential, around ... which means that I almost never pick up a pen when I have a book at hand, or the computer.

Of course, I'm not particularly enthused by the poems themselves of late, but I suppose that half-lame poems are better than no poems at all. As I've noted, I would really like to get back into writing the way I used to, but I suspect that this will be a function of my getting back into a JOB, as the scheduling structure of being employed lends the definable bits and pieces of time that can then be assigned as "poem writing time" (such as when I was at Chubb and the bus-in/bus-out time plus breaks let me write, or back at MTC when the office-is-closed-but-we're-still-here time leant itself to almost daily poem writing). Oh, well ... anyway, here's what spewed out last night in the hour between dropping Daughter #1 off for her play, and the opening curtain:



                    BLACK BEYOND NIGHT


                    1
                    spun away,
                    set apart,
                    our wildness
                    turns deviant,
                    we break from ruts
                    into zones
                    outside of habit
                    without a guide
                    2
                    we ache frustration
                    wishing to know joy,
                    hoping to have hope
                    be not a bitter thing,
                    but the world
                    is crueller still
                    and warps all feeling
                    into the pit
                    3
                    no vectors lead
                    out of this place,
                    we have crossed horizons
                    into crushing zones
                    where no good is
                    and all declines
                    tighter, darker,
                    black beyond night
                    4
                    the outer madness
                    of mundane things
                    twisted into lies
                    confounds the senses,
                    perverting all
                    to the extent
                    where insanity won't free
                    us from these chains
                    5
                    stasis dislocates
                    the nexus of regret
                    in bearing so much loss
                    and eviscerating pain,
                    every facet of existence
                    amplifies the angst,
                    no options are remaining
                    beyond incessant tears


                             - Brendan Tripp
                                05/14/2004

                    Copyright © 2004 by Brendan Tripp

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