poem or prose (27/Sept/18)

should I write a poem
or should I write prose
no one can tell me because nobody knows,
should I write in short-line
or should I write in long, letting my thoughts swim away hooked upon a hook with rhyme as bait to tempt away from just another bring day,
should I write nonsense
or chart a narrative
tacking for some clarity some parity of time,
should I conjure modern verse and keep it terse or borrow some poetic curse, delusions of an epic that just in a jot could lose the plot becoming a polemic,
or should I just go freehand, free-form, a consciousness of streams all-aboarding trains of thought chugging forthright down the line between the rails slicing wind-swept platforms leaving passengers with tickets-raised waiting for yet more delays and spotters of the trains that gaze in awe and adoration,
but then there is the question of decay
as random as that sounds
where intent and direction meet, clash and fight for dominance which is nought to do with dominoes and much ado with what your nose is telling me of which way I should go
poetry or prose.

© 2018 robert greig

wordless (17/Sept/18)

some days it’s as though my words are laughing at me, that not only do I hate, and have long done so, the sound of my own voice I sometimes take umbrage at the sight of my own words sprawling as they do across the page saying the same old same old, same old thing I said yesterday, the day before and before that stretching way back probably into some previous lives quilling papyrus or scratching on slate… it actually feels like all I’m doing is grunting at the page in vain hoping an anonymous inanimate strip of pulp can translate it into something verging on coherent… but there’s a disconnect, a loss of faith, it’s all just flakes of skin… but then, isn’t it a writers lot to write about a writers angst?… a duty, respect the words and they’ll do the same for you?… not easy surrounded by their misuse left, right (especially right) and centre, hardly surprising that words refuse to cooperate having finally said enough’s enough, I’m more than just 26 alphabetical fridge magnets… good grief, almost forgot how many letters there are in the English alphabet, isn’t that weird, or worrying, it simply hasn’t crossed my mind to specifically think about or remember it, but there it is, ingrained, five handfuls of letters plus one left over constantly playing musical chairs to decide which letter will be cast into the wilderness today, maybe it’ll be the least used which as it turns out is ‘q’ (though some may argue it’s ‘z’ which is third bottom but swaps places with ‘q’ in some measures) which is apparently found 56 times less than the most used being ‘e’, unless you decide on the basis of frequency at the beginning of words which relegates ‘e’ to around half way and puts ‘s’ proudly in the top spot, unsurprisingly ‘x’ wins the booby prize of bottom…… anyway, unsurprisingly I suppose I have lost my thread, where was I?… bemoaning something or other………

© 2018 robert greig

of silence (28/August/18)

there’s something about silence

 

 

 

 

that’s never quite silent

 

 

 

 

so why call it silence?

 

 

 

 

maybe it should be called quiet
but isn’t that something quite different?
possibly not

a Vow of Quiet
usurping
a pretence of Silence

but let’s keep that to ourselves.

 

© 2018 robert greig