The Poetry Kit |
| Desmond Swords | |||
| SHEEPLESS We are training as language artists in an alluring Western based ambience where pastoral and urbane intersect vectors of cultural flux mesh serendipitously and there are bards enough proclaiming of poesie from the page to station on every street corner mountain peak, in all wooded glens, and working every sector of the poetic spectrum poets' compose to reach "there"; be it - quantitive, syllabic, accentual stress, combined metric slam, L=A=N=G=A=U=G=E, open form, tragic confessional, comedic, write-through or mental composition - techniques we have come to possess and deploy with varying degrees of success, failure, loss and benefit in the acquiring of skills which increase the consumptional capacity of our appetite for language until such time that we feel capable of, metaphorically eating the alphabet a goal achievable in 15 years hence when we dream of scoffing knowledge on lingo binges feasting on linguistical fare lashing our eyes full of letter nosh sucking soundgrub into our ear's gut and ingesting text for regurgitation to "other" voices who passenger on the shuttlebus of love; where we are all gourmets gorging on blather in one united assortment of sound, from a quick smooth swoosh of solid reliable speed hulks hurtling into a deep unconscious order of unknowable tune, to freight laden trucks labouring in gridlock on clogged access routes to the sublime fleeting energy; whose jolts can compact galaxies to black holes vacuum packed with an absence of time tracing our concept mark of living as one with the infinite mind; and bestowing by its thrumb seer gifts of prophetic possession to some depositers of text, be it printed or binary coded optical data bits traveling through fibre to gozzy gawp gawk fests yet to begin. We are the knocker uppers tapping on the window pane of literature fitting up the page with poesy of all genre and form from recognisably life affirming to the unrecognisably banal barren mind space of knowing if a singular discharge un-owns creation. And between these two extremities is life itself replicating and assembling its note of busyness demanding access to profess that you wander round the kitchen like a two bit twot till all from Ballymum to Ballsbridge sing "The salmon you seek swims ineluctably upstream to bind complete the continuum's principle impulse returning through a labyrinth imitative of bioscape brainshapes, recording the pictorial quiver flue of a life force unborn but spawning wisdom" Shall we look into beyond for the faithfully inclined unhearing what tune of belief to sing as they rise to begin their song? |
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