To try too, too hard to be avant-garde is to write in cipher. Gnawing nuances like dry bones for hungry intellects. And that last dash, pause, hesitation - profundity in horizontals Let us bury the dead poets that deadened words Pounding the Beat orchestral as a triangle Sitwell and Stein senseless sentences proclaimed as if a holy one had had a hand in heaven or conjured weird word pasta to suck on and let slither like soft worms down gullible guts. Let there be a slow feast though with minstrel play on meanings tinkering tunes for moods as a Thomas, and a Hughes or Eliot's holy communion in an uber rational age But when the heavy rainy days are upon us, how heartening to shelter in simplicity. To open page upon page of poets speaking with the clarity of Clare too numerous to name, even today.
Grace is hosting Open Link Night – where anything goes as long as its poetry!
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