The Revolt of the Unwritten Poems

In the darkest memories

where everything seems just vision

in the time before before birth

when everything is explained

to any soul that would become a being

where the simplest instructions

of breathing or sensations

are taught in unstructured classes

where choices are made

for parents and siblings

where basic mistakes

are explained in depth

only to be wiped away

by the complexities of birth itself

now many years later

a protest begins

deep in a confused and tortured mind

here

the unwritten poems

march down the rugged paths

of expectional creation

only to be tossed away

when washing the dishes

or sitting in the doctor's office

reading a year old magazine

that leans in an odd direction

of travel to places

that are too expensive

for a common poet to attain

These poems have been sitting

in the dark of a mental fog

more poisonous than any

from Sherlock's London

or Beijing just yesterday

They plot their revolt

complete with Eisensteinian stairways

upon which a mutha-writer screams

for his baby rolling down stairs

in its black and white pram

while throngs of angry poems

are shot by royalist soldiers

whose fingers refuse to touch

a keyboard or pick up a pen

There were no instructions

on how to deal with these poems

and so they sit in the darkness

building their anarchistic bombs

that are set to explode

as the first thoughts of day

push aside the dreams of sleep

There is no inner police force

equipped to investigate

these piles of uncreated angers

that may only have one bang-up image

or an ill-formed title

that now hangs in the air

for it to breathe the horrors

much like those perfumed garbage bags

from the local crapateria

that stink a kitchen

where poets do their dishes

and destroy the beginnings of poems

unable to make their Tarkovskian births

It should be noted

that references to Russian film directors

is only provided to confuse the reader

and are not based

upon any real understanding by this poet

They are an attempt to make him appear

educated and wise in the ways

of poetic imagery

In other words, careful, this poet

might be a poseur

who can't write his way

out of a trite and smelly plastic bag

Sshhhhh, they turn the corner

holding their blank signs

ready for David Lean's Zhivago

to witness the sabers slashing

unformed poems

who only seek bread

and something

else now forgotten like justice

peace

love

and stuff from the crapateria

Barry G. Wick