Perhaps I shouldn’t have such a negative post as the first of the year, being unrepresentative of the happy and serene holiday times I’ve had, but sometimes things fall where they fall. There has been an increase in poetry in my life recently, and while I do appreciate it and the inspiration being around creative people brings, poetry and I have a bit of a bone to pick.



Because your words weren’t confusing enough.


As if every prosaic conversation wasn’t already a puzzle to decode.

Poetry: we can’t just say what we mean; no, no. We must take our emotions and obscure them in Poetry. And then we’ll tell you there’s a truth inside, that you could share if you could only crack the code. Poetry!

What an unromantic person you are!


LAUGHTER Ha Ha Ha! (God I’m so tired of feeling like this. I’m spitting up bile. How do I rebalance my humours.)

Sorry, my friends who like poetry, sorry sorry sorry please don’t feel bad. But also: I don’t care.

You’re safe up there in your tree-house anyway. And sure, there’s not a sign excluding membership; and sure, your lofty crenulations ornamental and coated in gilt.

I wonder if the breeze is nice up there. I’ve heard you give the views the highest praise.

The thing is: will it be worth my while, to learn the code. Really? To decipher the messages, research the background, and painfully extract the meaning from these verses? Because I like a puzzle, and I like to learn, but I have my limits. Will I find anything for me there when I’ve scaled the ladder. Anyone who has thought of me at all? Are the vistas really without peer, because I HIGHLY suspect I will see the same truths walking up these gentle slopes of prose.

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