Sometimes Nothing Makes Sense - a poem about rambling
Rambling Poem - from "The A.M. Poems"
Many years ago, when I was going through some rough times, or my young, questioning mind just couldn’t sleep, I would write into the wee hours of the mornings. I had a whole spiral notebook of these creations that I called, “The A.M. Poems.” Some of my poetry was full of ramblings, a tired brain trying to make sense of all the madness and sadness in the world. Some of the nonsense almost made some sense. Perhaps this is one of them.
Nothing Makes Sense
and my words get all twisted
like a fly in a web
or cluttered like a desk
or sounding all wrong
like a gong, a long song,
or just an out-of-tune guitar;
or they shake on my tongue
and stumble about like a drunk
or a bum and start sounding way-out
wild and crazy
or just plain stupid
or messed up or dumb or
like they don’t know where to go
or what to say or what to do,
and, sometimes, before they can form coherence,
everything gets dark and the music stops,
and rain begins to fall and THEN…
NOTHING makes sense.
#2 National Poetry Month
More "A.M. Poems"
- Poem - Foolishness
Writing into the night is something writers often do. From my spiral notebook of "The A.M. Poems," "Foolish Babbling" speaks of the need to stop writing...and rest.
- Poem - I Love You--Really?
This is yet another A.M. Poem from my wee-hour scribblings, this time about the expression of love and what is really real--or not.
- Poem - What Does It All Mean?
This poem is yet another mad rambling from "The A.M. Poems," written in the wee hours of the morning. This poem has to do with loss, searching, and the feeling of whether or not it really even matters.
- Poem - Always Goodbye?
This is another poem from my notebook of "The A.M. Poems," those I have written in the wee hours of the morning when my mind is whirling and my pen is rambling. This poem questions the madness of the world, the quest for any kind of truth, and the in
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