Poetry? Poetry Indeed.

I too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond all this fiddle.                   Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one discovers that there is in                   it after all, a place for the genuine.                                                                 -Marianne Moore For nonese rhymes, care too little and structured prose, care too much. My friends, I have not yet seen poetry of a true mind. I must be cruel, to be kind what you may repress, I unveil. what you may build, I dismantle. who am I to judge creativity? the axiom of peripheral thought, there is no poetry, just symbols of the mind. The imaginary is my playground The subconscious is my work place, language is your burden! unrestricted, a bitter taste, inklings of a garden gaze. Write a line and destroy the page. Write a stanza and destroy your doubts. We are all a young Picasso, our world is essentially a bottle out at sea. Walk a mile, or maybe two, until your feet blister until your legs cave in, experience is like a rag doll throw things across, a crowded room. Make sure you attach no notes that explain your words, like a photograph needs nothing except the souls they capture. Fellow poets! show the world your prowess in emotion, your exclusive ability to alter perspective, imagination and stillness of a fragmented life. Shakespeare never once loved, because he knew it all too well. Poe never once wept, because he knew it all too well. Their hell, their beautiful ordered paradise, would be our palette for design. Imagine a world, do you see it? exactly, it is not visible because it is not poetry, it is unreliable. our list? goes as follows... Love. Hate. Interests. Affliction. Beauty. Benevolence. Sincerity. Alienation. Bliss. Macabre and the Melancholy reality of truth. These are the keys to open your poetic doors. I will be waiting there for you.