A Nifty Non-Poem
At last there came the city,
nearing - distance abating.
It was not of the usual brick and mortar,
but a garble of mud huts,
waste dumps, and unpretentious shacks,
all in place, yet out of place,
like dark dreams in bright sunlight.
There were roads and avenues,
too narrow or too wide,
meant for avoiding, not for walking.
Hut upon hut, building upon building.
Dirt upon dirt.
This was no paradise,
no sought-for destination.
It was imagination planted
without a gardner for guidance,
like weed seeds tossed in the wind,
to sink tangling roots where they would,
better hidden than found.
To enter? To enter?
The thought is there.
Thoughts are for the brave.
It was fun and easy throwing this piece of nonsense together. The difficult part was calling it some sort of poem. But, let me know what you think of things like this. Simple thoughts strung out as plain prose writing, only to be squashed into linelets to tease readers foolish enough to read the whole thing and maybe develop the possible notion that I knew what I was doing – much like one of those "Maya Angelou" type "poems" where words are plastered onto paper willy-nilly with the hope that someone might actually think the result to be poetry.
As much as I hate it, "Hip-Hop" beats most of that stuff.
Remember that you can only be a Redneck if you disbelieve most of what you read but believe most of what you write. If you want to be a bright red Redneck, then you must also learn to sing - either that or pretend to do so.
More by this Author
Numbers 13 through 24 in the first collection of funny little poems - Don't be nosy, Birthdays, The jet age, Paradise lost, The librarian, Elery Johnson, Amphibious advice, A pair in the apple tree, the power of babble,...
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