Canto LXX

I can’t remember the last occasion `
I wrote a poem with a pen and paper.
Back in the day I took out my frustration

on my trusty electronic typer,
a school nativity version of Bukowski,
thinking the sloppy, budget red wine stupor

was inspiration, though the constant, noisy
crash of each key peppered the insipid
exposition of the classics DJ.

The drive time Mozart ditties never lifted
my limpid free verse confessions beyond
the pissed up young man, quasi-Ginsberg standard.

I relapsed though as the millennium turned,
the Moleskine marketing suckered me in,
quality leather covers, perfect bound,

unsuitable for the recycle bin
and so they clog up bedroom drawers instead
with all the scribbled bollocks held within.

So now I ply my noble, bardic trade
by thumbing iambics on a touch screen
while on the top deck of the 68.

Espresso sets the tempo now, not wine,
all soundtracked by patois and rude ring tones,
with one eye on the spirit of the times

I try to keep a grip on the old forms.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Nov 11, 2011 @ 00:25:27

    Budget red wine induced stupor is inspiration. After a bottle, I can listen to the whole of my CD of Ginsberg reciting “Howl” and not realise that it is pretentious crap.


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