B&B’s Poetry Series: The Problem With Poetry

This week, we have 3 poems to show you.  We even have a new poet this week! Woohoo! These are all poems constructing what is truly the “problem with poetry.”

Next week’s theme is: She broke my heart, so I broke her jaw.

Email your submissions to me at faren@booksnbrews.com! I promise I don’t bite!

Second Guess by Justin McIntosh
How do you convey an idea? I am worried that I do not know enough words to get my point across.  I wonder if i do not know enough words or the correct words.  There might be a word out there that everyone knows besides me, and it is the one word that will solve all my problems.  If someone doesn’t understand me, how do I say my idea in a different manner?  Am I poorly describing the same idea multiple times? Is it even my idea?
There are so many words I can use… Could use?
Can use?
I hate myself.
Delete, delete, delete.
Is writing about love cliche? Love is something people understand, or think they understand.  Is there something about love that hasn’t been expressed? Who can really say they know what love truly is? I say that I have felt love, but I am not sure.  I am not sure if I have felt love from others.  Love is something that has been pondered on by philosophers, poets, and scientist, but has anyone come close to expressing love?
Love is held to such a grand concept… Notion?
Regard?
I hate myself.
Delete, delete, delete.
How much do I want to tell people?  I feel rather open as a person, but I must hold stuff back.  People don’t avoid me.  They talk to me.  They are nice to me.  Shakespeare wrote, “This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.”  I liked myself when I was true, but I grew older.  I don’t like the person I was, and I don’t like who I am now.  Why do people like me when I feel that I am a lie that I cannot handle?  Can truth be changed?  How far do I go?
I always feel alone… I always feel alone?
I always feel alone.
I hate myself…
Delete, delete, delete.

 

This Is A Poem About Poetry by Faren Coday

Poetry is wired
to kind of
be a hypocrite:

You must be honest,
but your eyes
must blink
in a way that’s relatable.

You have to ride
on the backs
of your tribe,
but also hang
in their heart
like a memory
they wish they forgot.

Poetry is a girl
that
shatters glasses
against walls she once
thought were built
to
house her
every single feeling,
to longingly
peer out of
the windows
out of that house
even though the grass
is fading

and the words
are burning
against her tongue,

like the winter
that rendered
every
strangers eyes
into diamonds
she
willing advertised
to the world
along her
neck.

And
it was the only
warmth
she felt,
so she thought
it was the only
warmth
she could write about.

 

I Write Poems by Ally Fazio

My name is Ally Fazio

and I write poems.

I don’t write fluff poems,

I don’t write butterfly kiss poems

or Honey-I’m-Home poems,

My poems do not sing la la la.

I don’t write cute kitten poems that purr

or cuddly poems.

No,

I write sharp poems,

I write bite poems,

I write burn-me-at-the-stake poems

Put-me-on-a-cross-and-make-me-a-martyr poems.

No-nonsense-makes-sense-honest-to-God poems.

I write the-Devil’s-do poems

and God-isn’t-dead-but-he-sure-as-hell-is-disappointed poems.

I write politics poems.

Mister, I write truth poems.

My poems don’t lie

about the actions of falsified heroes

and honest martyrs.

My poems punch faces

and kick between legs

and bite throats out

and scratch cheeks

and stab into torsos

and fire bullets into eye sockets.

I write poems.

Thanks, everyone! Have an awesome rest of your week!

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