02.05

02.05

 

 

(letters to a young poet from a young poet.)

i’ve heard too many times
“i am not very good at poetry,”
that is like saying
“i am not good at breathing,”
you’re going to do this
whether you want to or not
so you might as well
make your breaths deep
take in the fragrance in the air
along with the carbon monoxide
write your poetry
like a carpenter would make
his own crucifix

if you are uninspired
and you are a poet
it is time
to start sneaking into movie theaters
time to drive your car home in reverse
spend a day trapped inside your home
dressed like emily dickinson
stalking a housefly
attempt to roll uphill

your blood is eighty-five percent water
come to a rolling boil
you were not made to be luke warm
if you are body temperature
you are denying yourself
the chance to be something other than a body

you will write shitty poems
you will have shitty relationships
and shitty jobs with shitty bosses
and sometimes the most precious of poems
gets damaged in a move

you are not a poet
until you type your soul on a screen
and forget to save
but when that computer crashes
you will learn
that some things cannot be taken away from you

there are plenty of people out there
who won’t want to hear your poetry
but you do not speak for them
we all speak to the ears that want to hear
there is a method to the madness
of bees and their flowers

you do not have to share your poems
but document your heart beats
and your heart murmurs alike

sometimes a bad poem
is the prosthetic legs
of a good poem

as far as love
you have to love
loneliness is a bitch
big, big bitch
the fat kid in class
who steals your lunch
because he can’t get full on his
but you have to love
throw yourself into uncomfortable

pad your bed with broken dreams
make strangers less strange
and embrace their stories as your own
because time turns us into alphabet soup
and no one can claim the letters as theirs for long
your mouth carries the fiber of the universe
your dreams form our reality
speak now
or forever hold your peace

write everyday
write with borrowed pens on napkins at diners
and write with scratches on the backs of lovers
tiger stripe God’s car
throw eggs at his driveway
ding dong ditch his front door
leave a flaming bag of dog shit for him to put out
God knows only how to smile
at the precocious little monster you’re being
someday you’ll just be glad you made some memories

a poet is one hell of a hard thing to be
there is no health care, no 401k
no big benefits package
you don’t get sick time
but you will make money off of it
you’ll just be dead by then

the wealth of a poet is measured
in the lint in your pocket
and the gems you’ve placed
in the pocket of the hearts
of those around you

a friend once said to me
the worst thing someone can be to you
is bad poetry
and i believe that to be true
i cannot unhear what i have heard
and you cannot say
what you decided to let be unsaid

take a second
close your eyes
and take in a deep breath
now
before you start turning blue
let it out

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ 02.06, DAY 6 OF THE 28 DAY 02.2013 PROJECT

02.2013 is a thirty day project chronicling my february of 2013 through poetry. to read the entries from the beginning CLICK HERE

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39 thoughts on “02.05

  1. Pingback: 02.04 | FLASHLIGHT CITY BLUES

  2. ‘God knows only how to smile’ ‘we all speak to the ears that want to hear’. Nice!
    A small dance of sound scattered, exhalation of, reaction to, friction from, existing.

  3. Nice! i like this. ive been trying to get better at daily blogs but jimminy cricket its hard. I have to try harder be authentically me like u r doing. Super cool! Will be staying tuned!

  4. Love this! Have to hear it a few times. I truly enjoyed it.
    “i’ve heard too many times
    “i am not very good at poetry,”
    that is like saying
    “i am not good at breathing,”
    you’re going to do this
    whether you want to or not
    so you might as well
    make your breaths deep
    take in the fragrance in the air
    along with the carbon monoxide
    write your poetry
    like a carpenter would make
    his own crucifix”

    I love how you begin this. :-)

    BTW, how did you get the link to show that way on your post? I recently posted a link to sound cloud but it shows up differently.

    • First off, thank you.

      On soundcloud, underneath your recording is the share option. One of the choices is WordPress code. You just copy paste that onto the post.

  5. Pingback: Blogs I Follow and Love | Nura's Blog

  6. Pingback: Inspired « Ocean of Thought

  7. I am admitting not having listened to this when I liked it, I read it and ‘liked’ it when you first posted, so only now I have I taken the time to listen.

    True Resonance, superb. The character that infuses this piece with your voice captures each intention and pushes it forward in way only the author truly can. I was left feeling a little breathless, just wow.

    I might just try a little cound cloud on one of my pieces now.

  8. “write your poetry
    like a carpenter would make
    his own crucifix.”

    To me, art is expressing everyday ideals and life in new ways. This line does exactly that, and is therefore exactly that… Stunning poem. Simply stunning.

    Thank you.

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