Daniel Henry Rodgers Poet Lyric

Notes About The Poem

“Life is both prickly and gooey; the more you resist the thorns,
the more you are submerged in the slime.” - Alan Watts

“Trying to order the prickles only floods you with the goo;
letting go is the dance of existence.” – Alan Watts

"Life is a collision of order and chaos, control and dissolution, pain and play.
We are fluid and fragile thrust between external laws and internal cravings
and yet in small messy acts, scribbles, gestures, laughter, or tears —
we assert our existence. Identity is not fixed, it is lived, felt, and experienced
prickled and gooey all at once."

- POET

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Prickles and Goo

the World divided
Sharp as Pins
     Soft as Pulp
I wondered
     which am I

the drunk at the far-end barstool
     jawline submerged in stale foam
a man dissolving
     bubble by bubble

Prickles
     they parse me
with laws & Edges
     promise Order
leave me peeled raw
     flensed
          a Skeleton
               in Glass

Goo
     crawls in
          through visceral vein-scrawls
     fever-sluiced
          laughter souring
     in the wake of a Lover misplaced
          her musk lingering
               like Smoke
                    lifting
                         then falling
          in a house
               where paint scales drop
                    across abandoned Rooms

the whiskey absconds
     the moon dangles skewed
          a nickel flung
               above pavement
                    over a Lot
                         that doesn’t give a damn

Then
     a Voice
          half-Jester
          half-Prophet
          half-something that knows me too well
     leans from gutterlight
          and scoffs
               Prickles-as-Penance
               Goo-as-Grief
                    the Joke that scolds
                    the Truth that congeals

I rasp at the riddle
     wedged between
          Thorn & Undercurrent
          Scar & Canticle
          Logic & Mucus
     a Body mid-rebuttal
          against its own
               Who am I

So I scribble
     fist quaking
          on the back of a losing Lottery Ticket
               a glyph branded
                    a verdict spat
                         through broken mouth

                              a last gut burst

                                        Love denied

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I Am Anaya November 27, 2025 at 11:41 AM Daniel, we are seekers, hopeful for the inner voice guiding us, breaking through the downward spirals of life's afflictions. Flensed, my such a word, such visuals! Wishing I hadn't stopped listening to Watts...We must go out of our minds to come to our senses--Allen Watts. Happy Thanksgiving! Daniel Henry Rodgers December 1, 2025 at 10:57 AM Dear Anaya, I think everyone of us who regularly considers philosophical questions is a little screwy. LOL! Thank you for your wonderful comments, which are always appreciated. Autumn Blessings, Dear Anaya, Daniel

Andrea Dietrich November 25, 2025 at 7:13 PM Oh my. Love denied at the end. Your writing is very stylized here. I like the shorter lines. We are all a mess of goo I think! Daniel Henry Rodgers November 26, 2025 at 9:17 AM Dear Andrea, Happy Thanksgiving! In my mind, this poem needed this spacing to breathe effectively. Whereas my latest posting about Thanksgiving is a little more traditional, with free verse thrown in to modernize it. Thank you my friend. Autumn Blessings, Dear Andrea, Daniel

Darlene De Beaulieu November 25, 2025 at 2:58 PM Hello Daniel Henry, i hope all isa well with you. i use to eat a .lot of pick.es as a kid. now i no longer do. I no lonewr enjoy tjhe pickle. Have a nice e vedning my frkiend. /Darlene/ Daniel Henry Rodgers December 1, 2025 at 10:53 AM Dear Darlene, I have 3 granddaughters, 5, 3, 2 and one grandson, 6 months. I get to see my granddaughters a lot because they live close. My grandson, I see very infrequently because they live in Nashville, TN. Although I get to see them this Christmas for a week. Do you have grandchildren? Autumn Blessings, Dear Darlene, Daniel Darlene De Beaulieu November 26, 2025 at 4:06 PM Hello Daniel, I have been doing Christmas shopping. I will be reading your poetry. blessings my friend. /Darlene/ Darlene De Beaulieu November 26, 2025 at 10:00 AM Hello Daniel Henry, oh! grandkids. How many grandchildren do you have? Girls? boys? do you see them often? Autumn Blessings my friend. /Darlene/ Daniel Henry Rodgers November 26, 2025 at 9:14 AM Dear Darlene, I missed you. All is well, and having grandchildren makes it great! I like pickles also! Autumn Blessings, Dear Darlene, Daniel

Kim Rodrigues November 25, 2025 at 1:44 PM Love your poetic quote. Yes, we are fluid and fragile. … the drunk at the far-end barstool jawline submerged in stale foam a man dissolving bubble by bubble… Daniel Henry Rodgers November 26, 2025 at 9:13 AM Hello Kim, Alan Watt the philosopher inspired me to write this one. But all the alcohol lines come from a person (me) who has been sober since 1993. But I remember those years like it was yesterday. Thank you my friend. Happy Thanksgiving, Dear Kim, Daniel

CayCay Godwin November 24, 2025 at 4:30 PM I'm applauding the delivery of so much feel and spectacular imagery with the use of brevity. Each verse is a separate work of art, Daniel, and I inhaled them all with appreciation. Daniel Henry Rodgers November 26, 2025 at 9:11 AM Dear CayCay, It is always a great joy for me to read your quotes and poems, and I am thankful you enjoyed this one. Autumn Blessings, Dear CayCay, Daniel

Jay Narain November 24, 2025 at 10:46 AM this is a haunting, visceral poem that explores identity, suffering, and the fragile, bleeding self. It leaves the reader with a strong impression of a speaker who is deeply wounded, desperately questioning who they are, and haunted by loss and denial. Daniel Henry Rodgers November 26, 2025 at 9:10 AM Hello Jay, this poem was inspired by the philosopher Alan Watt, and I loved hearing him speak about prickles and goo. He said that we are either one or the other, and some are a mix. Thanks, my friend! Autumn Blessings, Jay, Daniel

William Kelii Kekaula November 24, 2025 at 9:57 AM Evocative and image-rich prose poetry explores the internal conflict of identity, using the visceral metaphors caught between two extremes—structure and dissolution, reality and memory, love and its absence—a search for self amidst personal despair, abandonment, and a lost relationship. A moment of clarity in a creative act, ending with the declaration of—defining a fundamental absence or loss. Daniel Henry Rodgers November 26, 2025 at 9:08 AM Hello HP, Happy Thanksgiving! Alan Watt, the philosopher, recently caught my attention with his quote that we are either prickles or goo, or perhaps somewhere in between. Thanks, my friend. Autumn Blessings, HP, Daniel