Kerry Creeron's Blog - Yes, I invented Pop-Tarts

I also invented the squeegee, and the Magna Doodle

Saturday, October 11, 2003

Some Poetry
The Fundamental is not the Univeral

Lots of people write poetry to tell stories
about war, death, pain love, heartbreak, anguish,
entrapment, violence, and love some more.

I do too.

The fact of the matter is that my fundamental elemental,
my self-conviction,
is like lead weighing on the scales of my soul,
so confident in the heft of my own opinion,
I produce a finely wielded rapier - parry
jab, slice;

because of the fundamental rule
I'm different somehow.
but how.
composed of experience,
sanctified by the small amount of pain I call torture,
I can preach to the masses,
I'm holier than thou.
and thou best not forget it.
because thine's time is nein.

How combustible is your reality?

leaning on the crutch of a catcher's mit,
it's the bottom of the ninth,
a small bit of rosin clings like sweat on an aluminum soda can,
pages of a calendar fly by,
the airport is closed for repairs,
but everyone else's flights keep connecting,
and I don't get offered an option on the bump or a voucher,
because I'd take it.

shoeboxes filled with baseball cards,
are the remnants of a happier childhood,
full of absolutes; devoid of composites;
black, white, and oreo, without the new flavors,
sure, they taste good, but your palette gets spoiled,
by the massive variety of impropriety,
trying to make decisions about sobriety, society, and piety,

religion hates, people kill,
devoid of meaning, a river without a heart,
I crease the wornout bill of my hat,
that clings to be, like water and sheets of celophane encapsulated,
drops of dew that trapt crea (na) tivity

rife with allusions, a peremptory
permutation flying with wings made of hatchets
killing scores, knee deep in a sky of sangrine,
rife with slashes; a life of slices
that's so priceless; it's trite, and emaciated.

Grasping at an illusory paintbrush,
on a canvas that dissolves into invisiblity,
fleeting words, unknown verses,
cryptic songs, and ancient curses,
a fundmaental arrogance expressed by self-knowledge rather than egoism,
everything dissolves into platitutdes and truisms