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I literally just spent 20 minutes attempting to find a specific Italian, (I think), aria that I can hear so clearly in my head but am finally prepared to admit failure. It was going to be a spectacular opening line I was going to turn into a bad joke about serenading vs. drinking the kool and sarin-aiding. It would have been good but any other aria simply will not do. I never knew I cared so much. My level of consideration is exactly inversely parallel to my musical acumen. Alas!

ANYWAY, sure hope everyone is enjoying a superlative existence! Another double-dose doing decisively detrimental damage descending direly down determinedly dreary drives. And other stuff. Enjoy!

“Wand[(er)lust]”, June 21, 2020.

Poetry is a spell

An incantation

Fiercely woven tapestries

Of specific words

Arranged in precise order

Spoken or pondered correctly

Beckons illusion

Teleporting consciousness

Transfiguring paradigms

A mindfulness summons


For those with the courage

To attune invocation

Compelling movement of long-rusted hinge.

I honestly can’t recall what preceded this one’s creation but I like it. One of those times where the lines just kind of break off from my brain already transcribed. Like the most useless and least-theist prophet ever.

The next piece is in reference to an infinitely heavier subject matter. I will never be able to understand so much but I’ll help in any way possible.

“Inliers”, June 11, 2020.

There are within every group

Extremists shy and bold

Even in the purest troupe

Some do not as told

A company’s not defined

By those who are it’s worst

What must be better refined

Dismissing comrades cursed

Even then hardly begun

To self-purge this cancer

And never will yet be done

Til we’ve played boil’s lancer

I refuse to judge a crowd

By their “weakest” members

But promote them to be proud

We’ll burn you to embers.

For the record when I say, “do not as they’re told”, I’m referring to like essential humanist principles. Pretty easy stuff, don’t fucking murder people for instance. Most people, even psychopaths capable of the grandest atrocities, know what is inherently right and wrong. And don’t fool yourselves, often laws have little to do with it. Doing what is right throughout time has often been illegal at that moment. But we know, in our “souls”, vacuous or golden, WE KNOW.

And stop protecting members of your professional or whatever community out of some bizarre sense of loyalty. You owe nothing to those who would commit the vilest sins. Buses were made for two things, public transportation and throwing these dickweasels underneath. Metaphorically of course, with apologies to the noble weasel.

Be blessed, warrior poets.

Happy Trails and Waggy Tales!

-Alex Blaikie

Categories: poetry writing

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A fractured mind held together by cellophane and some used tack.

9 replies

  1. I enjoyed both these poems. Great interpretation of what poetry is. The first one is remarkable because it is one long independent clause.

    Suggestion–I would put each poem as a separate post to maximize readership (shorter posts are read more than long ones).

    Liked by 1 person

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