BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,

Oh, yeah ... another poem

Amid all the confusion ... (insert gatuitous "Feel lucky, punk?" reference here) ... I managed to get another poem done. Not only did I get another poem done (not that this matters to anybody else), but I got another "notebook" completed. A while back I posted a scan of how I've been writing my poems of late ... they're in these little 48-page 2.75"x4.25" notebooks that I put together and carry around in my shirt pocket ... and I just finished filling up my second of these since going to this "system". These are not just for poetry, but also for those random notes, but it's been running 90% poems to 10% notes. Like you care. Anyway ...

                    LIMBOS DESPERATE AND GREY

                    all these functions
                    become unclear
                    change erupts
                    in outer states
                    as though this rage
                    became concrete
                    but nothing changes
                    here within

                    so many layers
                    to this world
                    the outer forms
                    which touch us all
                    the swirling context
                    in which we drown
                    and the inner place
                    in which we live

                    somehow the inner
                    and the farthest out
                    have meaning now
                    and the middles zone
                    just serves as moat
                    a vile miasma of fetid lies
                    dark delusions
                    and broken dreams

                    we are adrift
                    amid these states
                    no action sown
                    from inner planes can reach
                    the outer world
                    to achieve growth
                    all efforts here
                    seem dreamlike, vague

                    no one knows
                    nor cares, nor sees
                    that middle zone,
                    none can sense
                    how desperate our fix
                    set apart from all things real
                    unable to attain
                    impossible to seize

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2001 by Brendan Tripp

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