by Amanda Giles
Fuckin’ Poetry
I’ve been wanting to write me some
I’ve seen those cool cats on the TV
and thought – why can’t that be me?
I can walk and chew gum
I can pat my head and rub my tum
I ain’t dumb, but usually
the words won’t come.
Fuckin’ Poetry
Sometimes I make the time
I sit with my pencil in hand and I…
stare blankly at the wall.
I feel rushed so I try to force it out
Try to get some movement,
but my thoughts are just constipated
My mind has a vision of how
the poetry will look and sound.
It will be big
It will be profound
It will be both inspiring and self-effacing
It will be comedic and pure
and sometimes…unsure
Fuckin’ Poetry
In my mind, I will deliver it like the sassy urbanite
who was born knowing more than you
and who has more attitude than Doctor Who.
I will get every intonation just right
so that when I am done –
you will see the light.
You see last year here I rocked a piece,
but the words were another’s I couldn’t keep.
I promised myself then,
I was going to write some words to throw down
a poem or two I could truly call my own
And through the past year
I did scribble and scratch,
but I wasn’t pulling no rabbit from my hat
Fuckin’ Poetry
Now the night before Spiritfire
I lay in my bed
running over my lists,
crossing things off in my head.
I felt sure I had drifted –
I know that I had.
Then unbidden the thoughts came racing through
not what to pack or things to do.
I tried to tell myself – this really won’t do
Don’t you know that it’s quarter of two?!
But the muse can be fickle
and my promise was still unmet
So I climbed out of bed –
grabbed my robe and a pad
and I scribbled this poem that you have now had
And I said to myself – That wasn’t half bad
But I can’t end this poem
without throwing you a bone
Something to gnaw on
and take home for your own
So here it is…
This message is true.
Fuckin’ Poetry
if I can write it, so can you!
© 2011 Amanda Giles