Sunday, 2 February 2014

Flaxen, you are one sick puppy.

A psychiatrist writes: Mr Saxon has many deep and unresolved issues
stemming from a highly dysfunctional childhood and early family life.
His psychological tumult finds expression in his brooding and
nihilistic prose and poetry. This offers but a temporary respite and
can no way lead to a permanent resolution of Mr Saxon’s deep seated
and profound psychological problems.

A Flaxen Saxon replies: Fuck off Dr Fell. You only see the portion of
my psyche which I deign to reveal.

Now for more pretentious, self-indulgent and cathartic poetry. If you aint slashing your wrists after this one, then you are already dead.
 
    
Night and day become as one,
Unrestrained grey, endlessly trudges on.
Scant sense, no pleasure, no pain,
Humdrum certainty in a coarse domain.
 Murky shallows, indifferent response,
Ill defined colours of no consequence.
Toneless flows of clammy pallor,
Clumsy devices of scant veneer.
Boundless detachment and callous regard,
Pitiful retort and emotional retard.
Wilted riposte to arguments feeble,
All is damned, all is ignoble.
This day was like the last,
Stretching tedium into infinite past.
The future is but the same,
Quietly driven calmly insane.
Lengthening shadows on a windswept shore,
No sense of time in a place which is amoral.
Pity the life that remains restrained,
Pity the life that is all but drained.
Dragged slowly into eternal sloth,
On a lamed charger decked in a ragged cloth.
Limpid stance in an entropic domain,
A fool to the end and fools remain.
    


4 comments:

  1. Sounds like a good blues song to me. Must have a word with me old mate Clapton...

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  2. "......Wilted riposte to arguments feeble......"

    Nice line.
    The rest is shite, mind.

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  3. I suppose you've got a point. My poetry has always been crap.

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  4. Not true. Parts of it are quite excellent.

    ReplyDelete