This is not a poem



Lots of thoughts

With no words to wear

My mind is a rowdy play pen

A seat of chaos

Flashes of ideas flit across the landscape

Rumblings of shattered inspiration follows closely

And the ensuing silence is deafening


My mind is a mass grave

With litters of ideas thrown

In hurriedly dug shallow crevices

In a hardened soil using rusted spades

The stench of death hangs strongly in the air

Listen closely for the sounds of aborted dreams


This is not a poem

It is an ode to fallen soldiers

In the land of creativity

Starved to death in the heat of battle

Eager they were to serve mankind

But their fires burnt out too soon


This is not art

This is a mindless splash of colours

Across the canvass of time

Devoid of pattern and the constraint of rules

Simply, they are brushstrokes moving to the rhythm

Of the mind in a cathartic dance

Call it therapy, and you may be right.




9 Comments Add yours

  1. holy shit. this was INDEED a poem and is INDEED art! My favorite of all of them, so far, in fact.

    1. topazo says:

      Wow! Thanks a bunch

  2. Wow! This is wonderful!

    And you nailed this yet again Doc.

    1. topazo says:

      Senor Joe, I thank you o…
      Thanks for cheering me on..

  3. ubecute says:

    Very, very nice indeed!

      1. ubecute says:

        You are very welcome 🙂

  4. Yemie says:

    Speechless! This is a very outstanding piece in all its entirety! This therapeutic piece as you call it runs so deep! All the lines and verses are very thought-provoking and pretty insightful! I’m bowled over Doc, as I always am and awesomeness doesn’t even begin to describe what you did here. Respect Sir! *courtesying* LOL

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