poet asks me, yesterday,
if I still write poetry?
is this poetry...if it is,
I don't know...
cause I started doing photos,
anything that is a record - I suppose...
I used to love cassettes,
recording my voice,
saying things out loud,
or wanted to keep some part
of me, that once existed,
I imagine that words once
served me better, than now,
you are too bitter, said the coach,
inside out, even back to front,
like meaning got twisted around me,
a suit of word thorns,
try and live out, what it is you wanted
I get it!
I see what it is to become things,
black as coal, shinier than a precious gem,
gagged in the frozen drama of everyday time,
I live ahead of every action,
carry out what it is I need to do,
and avoid others, postpone my own demise...
GRANT FRASER's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Still Writing by GRANT FRASER )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- The Peace of Trees, Sandra Feldman
- and back to the middle of the road lies .., RIC S. BASTASA
- aut neca aut necare, RIC S. BASTASA
- Not a Poem at all, sEaN nOrTh
- to be empty all over again and move like.., RIC S. BASTASA
- and once again you decide to live., RIC S. BASTASA
- 'tonight at ten'., RIC S. BASTASA
- you must be lucky to have found it, RIC S. BASTASA
- love became l o v e became LOVE and now .., Mandolyn ...
- that self-confidence, RIC S. BASTASA