Ode to a puzzle piece shuffled under the rug
They say ignorance is bliss
Brother, you should try it.
I’d rather savor the taste of loathing
Seeped in spicy Hatred, tangy Loathing
Ah, savoring that revolting reminder
Seared in another’s thought
as the inky center
of a pastel landscape;
the oil-paint reproduction
by David Winter
with the crack in time and space.
Instead of fading into obscurity
Rotting in the dust-flavored dark.
Time and fragile memory hastens
No, my one satisfaction
is that I must not be seen
under shaggy wool
promises the fragment
that one day I may be remembered
as a wonderful failure
when the picture is complete.
I found this while stumbling online this afternoon in my underwear (think of Brian Cranston, ladies). Try reading this aloud. I’m pretty certain that I pronounced 90% of the words correctly as sit alone in my room with no discernible audience.
If you can pronounce correctly every word in this poem, you will be speaking English better than 90% of the native English speakers in the world.
After trying the verses, a Frenchman said he’d prefer six months of hard labour to reading six lines aloud.
I’m not exceptionally good at poetry but like to try my hand at it now and then. This poem I crafted over the holiday break after a long and thoughtful shower (I do my best thinking half-blind with Head and Shoulders trickling in my eyes). It’s not great but not exactly horrible either. Tell me what you think.