What Be It, Anti-Poetry?

What Be It, Anti-Poetry?

When petite-bourgeois Poets hear of it, they cringe.

Could there be a confrontational connotation?

For surely the prefix: Anti- indicates taking a stance

Against something or other. So why bother?

In actuality, Anti-Poetry is a 'Self-defeating' exercise

Whereby the writer may fly; freed from gravitas and vanitas.

Like transitional mutations during the course of evolution

It forms a missing link that bridges archaic and neological usage.

Novel species shall arise from said proverbial soup

Displayed—in memoriam—at wax poetry museums

Archetypal feathers from an archaeopteryx

Will give wings to flightless bards whom at present are apterous!

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STFU Grammar Nazi!

"These rules, which have to do with things that are all destined to perish with use, are based on merely human commands and teachings." 

~ Colossians 2:22

 "Philosophy is a battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by means of language.
 
The limits of my language means the limits of my world." 

~ Ludwig Wittgenstein

"For last year's words belong to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice." 

~ T.S. Eliot

 

---

STFU Grammar Nazi!

Language evolves through improvisation;
Lending itself to radical rearticulation.
Clarity may be the currency of communication BUT —
Ludic Telos underlines its alteration!

If Grammar Nazis had their way
Poiesis would be impossible.
They wish words would never sway
Yet such changes are unstoppable...

Neologisms are loosed into our lexicon
So often, we update dictionaries annually.
Ebonics plagues many an interaction online 
Scratching up turntables manually.

You see, a sound isn't the same as what it represents.
Even the letter isn't strict in any sense.
Leave rules to sorry fools stripped of innocence.
Expressions may fit situations (it depends)!

Video: Stephen Fry VS. Grammar Nazis

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NeoplasM

NeoplasM


Poetry has nowhere left to go
And nothing else to do other than
Transcend itself, which first off
Requires comprehension of oneself.

Lazy be the cells of any bard
Who sells out to the know-it-
alls dwelling in their ivory towers;
Academic shackles bind the mind!

Those ledger heads would have us
Take a street fight indoors
Where orderlies could constrain
The activities of each brain.

Bukowski believed in the RAW.
Nothing wrong with how he saw
Although much needs to be said
About a well done prime rib 'proem'.

An empty stomach grumbles
From forced fast on Fury Road.
Our ornery engine roars and rumbles
Dead do walk, as crow has crowed.

Outgrowth spawning sprawling tendrils~
Innate protoplasmic insight reassembles
Some semblance of emblematic ascendance—
Causing such a consternation, that even holy heaven trembles!

Image: David Cronenberg's Videodrome (1983), starring James Woods.

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PleonasM

PleonasM


Long time no write
This site out of sight
The Nous grew silent
Which in retro sounds right?

The struggle continues
Nagual knows that it's REAL
But something ETHEREAL
Yet tangible waits on us to feel...

Beyond creative explosions
Destructive emotions
Treks through trials then commotions
Life meets death with {{convulsions}}

Still the fight is worthwhile &
Stakes are far too high to ignore.
Organic existence is just one aisle
That our Consciousness must explore.

Posterity will bear out this work's value;
Polished gems always outclass any hullabaloo.
Pretentious labels get attached to such a lofty purview cause
Perfection is offensive to mere mortals who envy you, cuz!

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On The Warpath

On The Warpath


We will consecrate this act of war
With the flesh of gods and
Ambrosia; Nectar of Immortality!

Another eclipse approaches —
A brutal battle encroaches...

The enemy hears our tenebrific chant:
Mortis Invictus
Terror Forever!

Vicious, vile, Ars vindictive
Yes such power is addictive
It lays waste to the edifice
Of orderly artifice 
(In every way unpredicted)

Chaotic convulsions carry on
Death doth rattle
Open maw; give us MORE!

Grimace foul ghoul
Facing abject defeat

May you learn before parting
With whom not to compete.
Pigs pale | next to princely elite

But beware the court Fool
Because sometimes suddenly
A hidden king is revealed
Then any shield shall yield
To that psychic sword he will wield

All foes fear his fierce horrific rant:
Mortis Invictus
Tyrant Forever!

Minor Arcana | King of Swords

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Purgatorial Blues

Purgatorial Blues

Out of fire
Low on pith

The moment has fled
Judgement was swift

And this damned demon groans
From rock bottom of the pit

There are some sins

That can't be expiated

Then one dwells

For too long in private hells

Stumbling barefoot

Brains all but aberrated

Unemployed with youth destroyed

Yet holding onto hope unalloyed

Breathing bravely until bitter bile

Betrays its own blessed blood

Because no strain of stifling evil

Can stamp out pure Will if it's good!

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