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    I No Longer Write for Humans
    Project: The great enhancement debate
    Living on a sad island,
    mountains sneak into my eyes,
    their rain drives me back to the door,
    eyelids cloud it over, out, into a blur,
    It seems worse today.

    Living here,
    I no longer write for humans,
    no trees hear me cry,
    the earth reaches over our ears,
    so I try to smile in kind,
    but my small change is returned,
    and the rejection lingers like
    you know
    no one understands
    I've got myself
    and you've got
    everybody else.

    I'd like to leave,
    the red rock is unforgiving,
    white waves break me back,
    and big skies cheer them on,
    everyone is yelling,
    'come home, come home to us, come now,'
    but bind,
    the binary codes brand us,
    you, as outgoing,
    and little old me
    as incoming on a
    belittling mess of intelligence.

    So I long to stay,
    the dawn ruins my timing,
    and scans the lines
    for predictions of omens
    and auguries where others
    would avoid fate
    and all her works,
    feeling unbeholden to thought.


    18th April 2008 Hobart Tasmania

    Thanks to Shevek for reminding me that I don't have to be dead to be a successful poet, or indeed be successful to be successful, just followed, though it's a pity I had to lose my humanity along the way.

    ps each second line should be indented almost to the end of the preceding line... doesn't seem to work...

    Tue, Apr 22, 2008  Permanent link
    Categories: epiphany, transhuman condition
    Sent to project: The great enhancement debate
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    Rourke     Wed, Apr 23, 2008  Permanent link
    I love the rusty horns
    meika     Wed, Apr 23, 2008  Permanent link
    Best part is that the horns are on an empty workshop's wall which neighbours a Deaf and Blind Association library ( I think they are/were fume extractor exhaust system filter/mufflers though).
    Robokku     Wed, Apr 23, 2008  Permanent link
    I rarely take the time to enjoy poetry, but I enjoyed reading this very much. Thanks.

    I also like your observation that you don't have to be successful to be a successful poet, and I agree.

    I think art really only succeeds or fails as art on its own terms. If you judge it by other terms, you are not evaluating it as art but as something else (most commonly, if you limit success to popularity or renown, as showbusiness).

    That's why I consider the concept of a 'professional artist' to be an oxymoron.

    (And dead poets aren't successful - they're dead. That's not what you're aiming for, is it?)
    dragon     Fri, Jul 25, 2008  Permanent link
    The following:

    you know
    no one understands
    I've got myself
    and you've got
    everybody else.

    Struck really close to home.

    I don't know if anyone deserves the right to attempt to describe the emotional connection we have with exceptional poetry more than to say; very earnestly, thank you.

    So, Thank you