Some Poetry About Life–and some about writing poetry

unadulterated shit (Owned by Donald Smith of St. George, New Brunswick, who loved this poem so much he paid me $25 to buy it in about 2001. MY 1ST OFFICIAL SALE!

i sat beside a mountain brook
and wrote a book
and when i read what i had written
i was smitten by the
of reality

the words did not make sense
and the plot was much too tense
for the mood and for the tone
which had shown the anti-idealism
of surrealism

so i threw it page by page
into the water which did rage
with laughter at each word
till a bird flew by and read it
and shit on it

a poem of silence

noises unheard
not one word
no peep nor cheep
nor footstep creep
nor bleep!

no one home
but me
does anybody be?
i cannot see

to be alone with silence
is to be alone
in the universe
not knowing for sure
if anyone else exists

this could be frightening
and border on insanity
but not necessarily so

silence can be:l,
peace of body
peace of mind
peace of soul

just me
and the universe
in cosmic harmony


a ball of words

sometimes i wonder
is it really worth it
to spend my time on rhyme and verse
to curse the world and all its faults
to praise the beauties i can see
and then i answer
it is
to me
even if not to anyone else
for myself it does wonders
to calm a confused mind
and straighten out my head

moments like these
are ever so rare
in our galloping world
that to curl myself up
into a ball of words
is a pleasure
of uncommon delight

the miracle

pictures are worth a thousand words
but poetry is worth a million
so on i write
into the night
cringing in fear
with insanity near
breathing new life
into words as old as death

isn’t it amazing
in all the length of time
humanity has spent upon this earth
someone can still combine
words into lines
that never before have graced
the printed page


are all around us

if only we had

the presence of mind

to see them

epitaph at birth

allow no man
to be my teacher
for he cannot live
mine life for me

allow me not
to be his teacher
for i cannot live
his life for him

let him help me
where he can
and i shall help him
wherever i can

we are brothers

let us remain that way

following my desire

like an eagle on the wing
soaring ever higher higher
trying to capture sun and stars
following my desire

like a mole beneath the earth
burrowing blindly through the mire
digging deeper than before
following my desire

like a leaf cast off by tree
like a snowflake softly falling
sliding down then gliding up
seeking rest — yet stalling

so i live my life each day
to opposing goals i do aspire
learning good exploring bad
following my desire


why do i see
when everyone i meet
sees mere humanity

is this a cursed blessing
is this a blessed curse

like a near completed puzzle with
just one piece to go
but the last piece doesn’t fit
that’s how i feel

i cannot fit myself into
the puzzle of this world
no matter how i stretch and strain
this enigma lies beyond my brain
to remedy

significant language signs

goes bacon in the dead of night
awakening my neighbours
who pound on my door
who pound on bacon
whom i see nevermore

propound a baconism
if you know one
(i don’t
i didn’t mean to wet your appetite
or rain on your purr-aid)

a pound of bacon
for breakfast
a bunch of bananas
for lunch
and for supper a steak
with roast potatoes
and you

you are my night
if i were a woman
would you be my knight
i mean if you were male
wearing mail
i might add

twenty-two plus twenty
makes forty-two
but even douglas
doesn’t know the question
from adam’s
garden of eve

have no meaning
but the meaning i give them
when i write them

and if i believe that
you’ve got some prime property
(canada grade a bacon?)
in florida
to sell me
but i have no money so
i can’t buy that

so why do i continue to string signifiers one after the other (as if they were words in a sentence {You’re Guilty!}) in a vain attempt to communicate my thoughts to some imaginary being called ‘reader’ (providing they get past an even more imaginary being called ‘publisher’) whom i cannot be sure exists and who has no conception of me (that was my mother’s job)

i am a person
at least i was
until i wrote these words
at which point
i became
a poem

and that me immediately vanished
by the ticking of the clock
ripped asunder
by the tickless time bomb
as under the foot of a flea
who got swept down the gutter
of gravity

imagine the coincidence
the play i saw last night
concerned gutters
kate and annie
maggie and polly and ellen
(they made a lot of offal jokes)

is that what inspired this crap
crepe-paper pancakes
inedible solid liquid

a lunar tune

to crash wildly
through jungles
of green
to chase wildly
on dewy
changing streams
in the middle
of a
changing screws
in the middle
of a
to follow
after none
but those
you don’t know
to fathom
the heights
of green

Author: rawgod

A man with a lot of strange experiences in my life. Haven't traveled that much per se, but have lived in a lot of different areas. English is the only language I have mastered, and the older I get, the more of it I lose. Seniorhood gives me more time to self-reflect, but since time seems to go much faster, it feels like I don't have as much time for living as my younger selves did. I believe in spiritual atheism and responsible anarchy. These do not have to be oxymorons. Imagination is an incredible tool. I can imagine a lot of things.

10 thoughts on “Some Poetry About Life–and some about writing poetry”

  1. Jerry, Jerry… your words bring me much joy, but your format irritates me. Putting all these beautiful verses together on a page, forces me to read them all at once (force being related to format, as in “I have to finish that…”) before I can respond. And each of these jewels is unique and worthy of individual contemplation and consideration…

    So, being one “imaginary reader,” please consider my request to offer each one seperately, over time, so I have the opportunity to digest and embrace each one…


    1. I’ve been wondering about that, but I hate the idea of using up so many post pages. But you are free to digest one, make any comments you are insired to make, then return to the post another time. Because i put them on one post does not mean you have to read them all at one time.
      But I hear you. Maybe I should start another blog just for my poetry, and publish each poem separately. What do you think? We have an opportunity here to have readers offer their thoughts and for a consensus to be reached.
      Meanwhile, pretend it is a chapbook, and read the way you want, and write the way you want…

      Liked by 2 people

      1. I’m not sure what you mean by “using up so many post pages.” I admit to being technologically challenged, but I was under the impression we have a finite amount of memory to use, rather than a maximum number of posts…

        Perhaps one of your other readers will be able to clarify it for us…?

        As for developing another blog entirely for poetry? I vote no on that. I vote no for two reasons: 1 – because it falsely divides the “progression” of your thought and 2 – because it forces me to slide back and forth between the blogs to get any sign of how they connect. And since you don’t date your poetry, it’s even harder.


        1. Oh Oh! I already decided to put the poetry on another blog, called word art by rawgod. I cannot truly date my poetry because most of it was written 30-40 years ago, but you’ll see your first visit what some of those progressions were. Mostly, my poetry consisted of feelings I was trying to come to terms with, and rather than connecting the poetry with my current text writings, they predated and foreshadowed the things I would come to believe in. But I will finish my first collection tonight, I hope, and then you can judge the success or failure of my attempt to give you what I thought you would want. Totally bombed on that. But… maybe you’ll like this even better…

          Liked by 1 person

        2. By the time you read this, you will have seen what I WASN’T expecting, that if I published a chapbook worth of stuff at one time it would all end up at the same time on the Manage Followed Sites page. That looks like a disaster!
          Oh well, will have to experiment. I have a few other chapbooks to publish. Doing them all at once will not work…

          Liked by 1 person

      2. You are correct, Lisa. WordPress goes by space available for data storage, rather than number of pages used. Besides that, the available space for each user is almost unlimited nowadays — it would take years to run out of space unless you were loading up videos etc.


        1. As per the blog I created yesterday, word art by rawgod, one poem per page would be okay if posting one poem per day or week, but right now I am wanting to post my writing from years ago, and pos

          ting 20 pages at one time–in order to give the complete work–was just too much to do. For now I will just let it percolate for awhile, and see what happens.


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