Tag Archives: writer

Explained -The Mad Village Poet 9

English: Long Road

Please refer to my post @ https://ifeelshadows.wordpress.com/2012/07/16/my-idyllic-village-experience/ for a background to the story.

Original(O): Time to walk the open streets of poetry
Though many preferring safety-sheds and lookouts.
Explained(E): Traditional poets face the challenge of dwindling fans and enthusiasts, on a stage where modern musicians, classical novelists, actors, etc also strut. There is therefore the need for courageously using poetry in ingenious ways, to get one’s message to the world. In the real sense, poetry is actually an open street of expression, but somehow, people seem to run into potholes. And, like I once said, dry lands(bad writings) are so easy to find these days.
O: However, the monkey struts in it
Having mastery of arts,
And immune from trial in court.
The wisdom of the Creator.
The beauty of art.
E: In my past writings, I have often likened myself to a monkey in this sense: I do not pride myself as a veteran writer, and so my “bad” works may be excused. (Big smile + wink!)
In this writing, I am saying: everyone has a right to expression. Just like what holds in the particularist school of philosophy, virtually everyone can be regarded as a poet. Even if they are not renowned poet laureates. So, they can stroll out in the streets of poetry freely; and so far they CAN truly express THEMSELVES, they can’t be found guilty.
O: Is the writer just a creator of words,
Bored with the very essence?
E: And the answer would be a spotless “No”. Writing is definitely not all about the use of words for their beauty. It’s also a lot about the message one hopes to send out. This is why a writing with words that cannot send out the message of the poet may classify as a dubious one.
For instance, “The Mad Village Poet 9(Original)”!
O: And, knowing there is no end to words,
Shouldn’t there be enough to go round?
(Give hear, you unemployed ones!)
E: There are writers who started from the scratch as freelance writers. Some even started from the “basement” as private ranters. These have found a very meaningful and gainful occupation in writing. It is really an open street with shops and stalls.
O:And, now, some will say:
Some writers have command of the literal world.
E: Well, we don’t have to all open wholesale depots on this street. Let some be content with small stalls; and even some with hawking!
-Hmm!!!-
O: And after the elaborate journey into literal insanity,
Won’t the mad poet get bored?
E: Indeed, it is boring sticking to one manner of expression throughout one’s writing career. By the time I am writing this explained version, I have already concluded the eleventh and last (original) mad village rant.
O: (Wonder if his rants are not considered insults
To the job description of the writer.)
E: Of course, I do not mean “ranting” in itself is insulting. I was particular about the mad village poet series. Without these explanations, they would have really been terrible excuses for writing.
O: Won’t he then do what he knows best
Thinking and writing like one who loves monkey soup!
E: And the mad village poet did just that: he thought of laying an egg! One that will hatch into The Mad City Poet!
Thank you.

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The Mad Village Poet -11(Original) -END

rolling jungle

rolling jungle (Photo credit: matthewvenn)

Jungle

Please refer to my post @ https://ifeelshadows.wordpress.com/2012/07/16/my-idyllic-village-experience/ for a background to the story.

The city was becoming crowded
With the less-hairy members of my species.
They laugh at my afro;
I mourn for their baldness.
At least they have carved out a new niche.
I shall call them humans.
Now, I hope none comes back
To interrupt my solitary forest meditation;
Begging for some hair-growth formula
When they can’t keep warm by being “on heat”;
And are desperate for some meaning,
Which is to be found only in monkey soup.
It is midnight again-
My period of peak activity;
Ears stretched taut, hairs standing alert,
Nostrils flared, lips set,
Eyes unblinking, fingers feverishly working.
The mad village poet goes to sleep on his laid egg;
Hoping it would hatch by morning into the mad city poet!
Thank you.
Epilogue:
Couples hanging out on Friday night,
A transaction that comes with a “minimum wage” agreement.
Pity if either one is an economist;
Then the other will be a charitable social worker!

The Mad Village Poet -9 (Original)

Fields north of the Protva River. The west end...

English: West Rock, Warwick Warwick is a hill ...

Please refer to my post @ https://ifeelshadows.wordpress.com/2012/07/16/my-idyllic-village-experience/ for a background to the story.

Time to walk the open streets of poetry
Though many preferring safety-sheds and lookouts.
However, the monkey struts in it
Having mastery of arts,
And immune from trial in court.
The wisdom of the Creator.
The beauty of art.
Is the writer just a creator of words,
Bored with the very essence?
And, knowing there is no end to words,
Shouldn’t there be enough to go round?
(Give hear, you unemployed ones!)
And, now, some will say:
Some writers have command of the literal world.
-Hmm!!!-
And after the elaborate journey into literal insanity,
Won’t the mad poet get bored?
(Wonder if his rants are not considered insults
To the job description of the writer.)
Won’t he then do what he knows best
-Thinking and writing like one who loves monkey soup!

The Mad Village Poet 4 (Original)

Old Age Home

Old Age Home (Photo credit: Ghintang)

Please refer to my post @ https://ifeelshadows.wordpress.com/2012/07/16/my-idyllic-village-experience/ for a background to the story.

Would you try a monkey in a human court of law?
Why would you bury a monkey beside me?
Even now, old age is telling on me,
My handwriting a written proof.
Where is the maturity in writing?
Shouldn’t one just write for a long time?
Many words in many forms;
Then your handwriting will testify to the wealth of experience.
Is peace not a weak solution to violence?
But how do you overcome evil with a greater evil?
Yet one will think oneself to be wise!
Why not throw oneself into a cup of water?
And measure the amount of water displaced,
A true gauging of the vastness of one’s wisdom.
You think you have experienced peace and joy?
Never like when that first rocky lump of shit fell free;
And relief pacified my painful groaning.
I felt so light I literally floated into heaven!
Am I still writing this long?
Are you still reading this far?
And let none assess the maturity of this piece.
I don’t claim to be a connoisseur.
You think it’s mature?
Go over it again.
You think it’s disorderly?
Go over it again.
You think it’s a mixture?
Go over it again.
You think I am just free-styling?
Go over it again.
You don’t know what to think?
Go over it again.
You think I am bored and jobless?
What does that make one who has read this far?
Why not try hoping I could yet make something of it!
Useless don’t you think.
A good player knows when to fold his cards.