Fred Babbin

Rookie (1925 / Chicago)

Artistic Syndrome - Poem by Fred Babbin

Poetry – this madness
This feeling-thought
that looks like thought
that holds my brain
and makes me forget.

This cocaine
I must inject
Into my veins
to feel alive.
I must run-write,
I cannot stop.
I cannot stop.

Comments about Artistic Syndrome by Fred Babbin

  • Rookie Wandering Scarlet (4/6/2010 11:05:00 PM)

    as Freud once called cocaine 'the miracle drug' i agree the artistic syndrome does indeed work miracles (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Rookie Vanessa Cabrera (3/27/2010 9:58:00 PM)

    Its a very nice poem. Artistic perhaps its a syndrome but its not being addicted of writing your poems or anything. It's just how you show your self or being you your passion and fashion. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Wandering Scarlet (1/1/2010 6:46:00 PM)

    Haha i laugh because i see and understand just what you mean by the heroin, I was once addicted (not to heroin) . (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Chitra - (8/23/2008 11:32:00 AM)

    a nice write! universal appeal (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 177 Points Sathyanarayana M V S (8/4/2008 10:53:00 AM)

    It isnot heroin. It is nectar. Poets live long.
    sathya narayana (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 0 Points Christine Austin Cole (7/20/2008 11:08:00 AM)

    Poet themselves are, I think, mad by definition (in a most wonderful way, I mean) . Poetry itself, then, is perhaps the one viable, generally acceptable, outwardly obvious expression of the condition – especially given today’s predominate absence of eccentric garb, passionate oration and the like. To embed one’s self into words, to set it on the page, is to introduce order, to process, to experience most fully the thought/emotions that are rampant within. It is both a necessity and a drug, I’d agree. There is a reason, I believe, that they say poets “suffer” writer’s block – a poet without words enough knows a pain, ironically really, that simply cannot be fully described.

    (Right / Write) on, my good sir.

    Begging your forgiveness for the rambling (a habit, I’m afraid) ,
    Christine (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 0 Points Dr. Kolitha Lelwala (7/18/2008 7:29:00 AM)

    Wonderful Poem Fred, I came to this page having read your comment on Joan's poem, loneliness. Anyway, having stayed long in captivity of poetry you may have comment on this poem, kindly comment on this


    A good pem Fred, I came to your poems having read your comment on Joan's poem. you may like this poem, comment on it.


    Autumn leaves float
    in the morning breeze
    giving percussions to
    chirping birds.
    Cotton wool flies in the fog
    blending with the mist

    There you see a lad
    corner in the down town
    with torn linen
    seated knees flexed
    head resting on knees

    Virgin rays brings warmth
    yet being destroyed
    By winter breeze
    The chest wall has no move
    ventricles in asystole
    skin has run dry
    tears freeze corner of eyes.

    The wind blown from the history
    Brought him to the future.
    It would be delightful departure
    goodbye to the 'life'. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Tara very irritated with PH injustice (7/17/2008 1:45:00 PM)

    Perfect pace, perfect pitch, perfect content. And... oh, yeh. t x (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Not a member No 6 (7/13/2008 3:34:00 PM)

    It generates a momentum all of its own Fred, and drives us into a fine frenzied circle of need and thrill, and you've hit the nail on the head very concisely. But now you're coming down from the high and it won't be long before the urge builds again to the point where resistance is futile, and write again you must, you must! jim (Report) Reply

Read all 9 comments »

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Poem Submitted: Friday, July 11, 2008

Poem Edited: Sunday, January 3, 2010

[Hata Bildir]