Cliché

As with the last post, I’m again posting a reading of a poem. I hope you’ll enjoy it. It’s part self-criticism, part making crappy ideas work for me. It’s a reflection of frustration with being unable to come up with unoriginal thoughts and then kind of saying, well, if that’s all I’ve got to work with, let’s do this anyway.

As with the last post, I’m again posting a reading of a poem. I hope you’ll enjoy it. It’s part self-criticism, part making crappy ideas work for me. It’s a reflection of frustration with being unable to come up with unoriginal

 

Cliché

From the rising of the sun

To the setting of the same

I will fill my poem

With plethora of cliché

I’ll be preachy with my wording

Throw my beliefs in your face

When you’re bad, I feel better

Who needs tact or grace?

Or perhaps I’ll tell you about my motherland

And how I miss it so

But I’ve never actually been there

And really, I hate the snow.

I could tell about the tribulations

Of what it means to be a writer

While I live in privilege

And pain is one all-nighter

I could write of adolescent love

Convince you that it’s real

Teach you it’s a feeling

A heartbeat and sex appeal.

I could write some lines of politics

I’m sure that I’d be right

Thousands of years of man’s problems

I’ve solved them in one night.

I know it all sounds cynical

But I assure you it is not.

I want my words to make a difference

But clichés are all I’ve got

 

 

(c) 2011

Joshua Murray

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Muse (ings) 1

I’m sitting in my favorite coffee shop in Lynchburg, Va. It’s small, it’s not very busy. It’s in a small college city in the middle of the summer and the students are away. I’m desperately clinging to my college years because I don’t know what is next. When you don’t know what to do after college, pursue a Master’s degree… I’ve been told, anyway.

I say that as if I don’t know what I want to do. That’s actually not true. I know what I want to, just not how to do it. I want to do too much. But I will try anyway.

The thing is, I need to take many steps to make that happen. Some of those steps will be painful. Some of them will be filled with unexpected joy. Some of them might even be backward. But there will be many steps.

I don’t have the calluses on my hands to play the guitar of my life the way I want to yet. I’m confident in so many things, except where the risks would be most rewarding. I guess it’s good to not have a calloused heart in some ways–you feel a little more deeply; but I swear, I do have some scars there, scars I haven’t figured out how to address. Sometimes I want to curse myself for the frustration I cause myself. But I wouldn’t want to change anything that’s made me who I am.

The paintings in here are beautiful. As full of flavor as the coffee I’m enjoying. I want to be that deep. But I don’t like being vulnerable.

I’m delusional, but I don’t care.

Beat

I just finished (or not) this. There’s an amalgamation of influences and inspirations. There are numerous wordplays and double-meanings. As it’s been hard to decide where to end it, I’m going to leave it as is for now. It may get a retreatment at some future appointment:

Beat

Beat down, beat up

Shot down while you shoot up

Fifties, Sixties, Sixteens, anon

Where are you, where have you gone?

Word on the street is you’re going to own this

Street on the word is you don’t even know this

From the source where the dirty river flows

To the greatest works of Pablo Picasso

Melting pot, melting snow

Now we’re proud of what we don’t know

Rapping on the door

Writing on the wall

Dancing on the floor

In the midst of it all

You seem proud to be beat down

But a beat is all you can hold down

Hold it, hold it now

Slaughter that cow

But don’t eat it

Hold the meat to the wound

But don’t bleed it

Because it might bleed you

Postscript: Go chew your cud, now.

(C) 2008 Joshua S. Murray

Thoughts?