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Keep The Heart Of A Child: Chapter Two

2


nonsense and stuff

 

(Original Publication Date on
Trilllogic Innoventions: June 6, 2009)

 

'Tis another month and I must keep the promise to myself of writing a new poem. Why did I get myself into this? I have absolutely no idea what to express. But that's the thing about poems. They don't have to be meticulously plotted. They generally do not have to be scrupulously honed. This is why children are some of the best poets. They write what flows out. And that, in my estimation, is the true art of poetry.

What pours from my brain, unfortunately, can be rather complex. Inordinately unnatural. Exuberantly abstract. Inutterally obsessantly compulstorily verbosedly illegiant. (Okay, that last "word" — and I use the term loosely — hovers somewhere between illegible, illegal, and allegiance. You figure it out. Or don't. I can't recommend it.)

Yes, it probably is a blessing I primarily funnel such inkling-ations into prose. That's easier to ignore, whereas poetry tends to leap off the page and demand attention. I really can't understand why it isn't more popular. It certainly used to be. Have we lost a degree of refinement? Has civilization de-volved?

Be that as it may or may not be, I am writing this off the top of my head so don't expect a detailed analysis of modern society. I have my life story for that. This is supposed to be fun, because poetry is a blast! No, I'm not joking. It's bursting with little surprises and wows and "Ah-ha!" moments, those bombs of insight that can startle you into amazement. Well, that's how I perceive it.

Everyone's entitled to their opinion. It is my belief that if everyone wrote — or at least read — a poem each month, the world might be a better place. They would be forced to contemplate Life, decipher beauty — whether beautiful or not — in what is around them. Poetry can cleanse and heal the spirit.

Now, I consider myself a poet, yet I haven't written a multitude of "poems" per se. My poetic passion has poured out through songs and the wordplay-slash-stylings of my prose. Quite frankly, I love language. English in particular, but all languages. Except foul language, which is so unnecessary and subvertive, yet is spreading like a fungus or blight to obscure the majesty of words.

Some of my inspirations are Robert Frost, Lewis Carroll and Doctor Seuss; the lyrics from the classic film THE WIZARD OF OZ; and songwriters Bob Dylan, Paul Simon, John Denver, Carole King, Lee Hazelwood, David Foster, Dolly Parton . . . The list could go on. And on. And on. We are, after all, the sum of our existence.

Guess I'll do what comes natural and compose a piece of Lyric Nonsense. I still have no idea what I'm about to say.

 

 

nonsense and stuff

 

My head is full of nonsense

That swishes ear to ear

If only I could sneeze it out

Just think what I would hear

If only I could blow my nose

And everything be clear

Why must I think of nonsense

With so much else more dear?

 

I wish my thoughts were brilliant

Solving riddles with their verse

If I could conjure magic spells

I'd break this awful curse

Why can't I just be normal

And keep my dreaming terse?

But I'd lack imagination —

I don't know which is worse.

 

When writing it's especially sad

How I reinvent the noun

I can't use words the way they are

I have to fool around

It's quite a pickle being me

And thinking like a clown

What would you do in my shoes?

You'd probably fall down.

 

I'd rather not be silly

It really can be tough

I don't know why I'm so awry

I think I've had enough

It seems no matter how I try

It slips out off the cuff

I wish I could make sense

Of this nonsense and stuff!

 

 

Quoth the maven, "Nuthermore!"

 

Which reminds me, I forgot to mention Edgar Allan Poe. And another Man In Black, Johnny Cash.

I'd have to say that a notably massive influence of mine has been The Bard (that's Renaissance for "The Man"). Mister Emote himself, the playfullest-wright . . .

William Shakespeare!

He is The Man, isn't he? The guy was like a gift to the world. Larger Than Life. Almost too amazing.

Now that I think of it, a little too amazing indeed! Where am I going with this? Alien Conspiracy, that's where. They thought we wouldn't figure it out, but I just did. No one could be that amazing.

No human, at least.

Dissecting the evidence, it's a wonder we didn't see it sooner.

"All the world's a stage." Of course, because they're the audience, watching us through giant binoculars! With superduper hyperspatial operatic spyglasses!

"Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears." Psychological persuasion! They collect body parts, especially ears.

"Eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog." It's a virtual shopping list for specimens.

"The world's mine oyster." See what I mean?

"A dish fit for the gods . . ." That's us! We're the dish!

"Pound of flesh . . ." Hah! I'm sure they want more than a pound.

And what about "a king of infinite space"?

Or, the most telling clue of all:
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio . . ."

Need I say more?

 

Unspoken shouts

 

Honest lies

In arid pools

Collect a void

Of clever fools

As liquid fire

Ignites to ice

The distracting silence

Of lions and mice

The broken vow

Of aimless dreams

The fragile blast

Of unplanned schemes

Echoes a quiet

That never stops

Fills empty puddles

With rainless drops

Quells placid-disruptive volcanic black holes

Tells unspun tales of spiritless souls

The rampant flood

Of droughts

Unspoken shouts.

 

[pagebreak]

Not Like Everyone

 

(Song Lyrics - 1993)

 

Why is it, invariably, I very often feel

Like a little kid, always lookin' in

At the world, you know what I mean?

Maybe I'm a very extra-ordinary way

And that's the way that I am

I'm not like everyone, I don't fit in

Like a keyboard out of tune

Or a drum that skips the beat

But I have found a place to be

That makes me feel at home

And I have found some friends

Who make me feel that I belong

 

Why is it that someone else

Rarely seems to know what I mean?

Am I imaginin' — or can't they understand

What is very clear to me?

Well, I can't imagine bein' any other way

Than the way that I am

I'm not like everyone, I don't fit in

Like a keyboard out of tune

Or a drum that skips the beat

But I have found a place to be

That makes me feel at home

And I have found some friends

Who make me feel that I belong

 

Why is it when I try my best

I just make a mess out of things?

Is it coincidence or a lack of sense

Or design, if you know what I mean?

Maybe I'm just messy, that's my personality

Or maybe I'm not good at everything

But I shine at bein' me

 

I'm not like everyone, I don't fit in

Like a keyboard out of tune

Or a drum that skips the beat

But I have found a place to be

That makes me feel at home

And I have found some friends

Who make me feel that I belong

I have found some friends

Who make me feel

That I belong.

 

Unness

 

I am sure you've heard of oneness

Or the quality of doneness

If you've ever been to Funness

You would never wish to leave

 

But sometimes I'm in Unness

Where the weather is quite sunless

In the state of being noneness

We can only disbelieve

 

It is there, outside of Nowhere

That I should ratherest un-be

I would dratherless not see

And druther most to flee

 

For in this place that really isn't

Which is not anywhere, you see

Yet it is there to me

I'm sure you must agree

 

It can't be farther from the truth

Or any less than simply ruth

Unless you've lost a tooth

For then you'll find you've found your way

 

But that route still leads past Noplace

However, in this case

If a silly look should smack your face

Don't hesitate to stay

 

And be the president of No-Ville

Where parades march past each hour

And cheering crowds will glare and glower

For it's their custom to be sour

 

Which brings me back to Unness

Where I'd very much not go

If it wasn't for my teeth, you know

With age they fall out so.

 

In Vain

 

Ah, Vanity

Such cruel insanity

Wearing Time like a strait-jacket

The Present an albatross

Shirking The Past, a shriveled skin

Anxious to be older

Until we are

And must battle the clock to stay young

What fickle foolish fate

What a reckless feckless race is run

In the mirror of our minds

Never satisfied

Scrambling ahead, lagging behind

Hurtling beyond what counts

In a mad blind rush

The course of idiots

Back to the dust from whence we came

Unto the eternity of who we are

Inside

For that is all we can truly be.

 

Another Rainbow

 

(Song Lyrics - 1983)

 

Once I crossed a rainbow and I found a pot of gold

But now the pot is empty

All the glitter's bitter cold

And I think it's time to find another rainbow

I need to find another kind of wealth

Now I think it's time to find another rainbow

So I'm leaving on a journey

To myself

 

Once I thought I saw myself

When looking through the glass

But now the glass is empty

There's nobody looking back

So I think it's time to find another rainbow

I need to find another kind of wealth

Now I think it's time to find another rainbow

So I'm leaving on a journey

To myself . . .

Here I go!

 

But what if every rainbow

Doesn't have a pot of gold?

And what if every story

Has no meaning till it's told?

Here I am — I'm getting wet but where's my rainbow?

Guess that I've been looking up instead of in

Cuz I think that when I cross another rainbow

I will find that I have come back home again

Again

I will find that I have come back home again.

 

The Elf Owl's Song

 

(from "Dance Of The Chupacabras")

 

Betwixt the thorns I perch

To repart a hoot of Nonsense

A piffelatious theorem

Allegorically dispensed

To impostulate the factor

That Nothing makes much sense

While Everything is quite unclear

And Something very dense

If Anything it's Nothing

Which isn't nothing, hence

One tends to seek alternatives

That lie across the fence

But in case you miss my point

I won't keep you in suspense

This entire observation

Is of little consequence.

 

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Poetic Reflections:  Keep The Heart Of A Child by Lori R. Lopez

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