Language Poetry and my favorite subject

The prompt in this month's writing group was a heck of a lot more fun than last month's. Language Poetry refers to a genre of poetry that is quite controversial, it seems. I compare it to abstract painting. Language Poets use words, images, language together in ways that may make sense to them or may just sound good; but which leaves it up to the reader to take away from the poem what they will. I'll admit that most language poetry seems like crap to me, but then, I like a good narrative poem.

Speaking of narrative poems, I've included two (maybe three) which could be described as such. The last one I wrote this morning about my favorite subject: my cats. Or wait, I mean the mundane moments of one's everyday life which show some sort of poignant insight into the Universe. Oh, who am I kidding? I like to write about my cats.

The poem about the fire alarm also has a visual component to it. Check out my Myspace pics here: ALARMING!

Language Poem Exercise

pleases crepes oregano
laughing juice
avocado cockroach
filleted!
meritoriously obscure
jungle stop signs
pequot
measles
philandering
junkie spelunking
eleemosynary --
freshmints
of bat tax
backtracking
somnambulant filing cabinets
squawking underhand
righteous!
abstract?

ltv


Symbols: A Sign of the Times

red on wall
with white
strobe light
flashing
alternately
with blaring
buzz, buzz, buzz
thank goodness
the picture shows
a stick man
running away
from what I can
only guess are flames

ltv


fragment

Twilight looms
a tapestry of clouds
leaves the door a jar
staples on the shelf

ltv


October morning

steam from my breakfast
-- lazy Saturday omelet --
fogs my back door storm windows
which were reluctantly
closed over the screens
just this morning
when I let the cats out

Willow sits -- white fur
stark against the browning
of Nature -- watching
investigating the leaves
falling one after another
all around her
she seems very concerned
about the instability
of the sky

Kes has been out
twice already
the second time to prove
that it wasn’t too cold
for her dainty frame
she proudly sits on the
harsh corner slate
of the garden wall
under the bird feeder
she fidgets -- adjusting
her tail beneath her --
lifting the tender
smooth pads of her paws
off the cold stone
again and again because
however cold it is
she is still outside
and it is worth it

ltv