strategies

 

 

 

strategies

 

With what words I wonder

can I hope

to catch the thunder of applause

and murmured adulation of my awesome erudition

and then,

 

– pause for dramatic effect-

 

 

- look directly into the stage lights

 

while the audience admires the deep cleft in my chin,

spin words of wonder into thunderous renown.

 

Alliteration wows the crowds and sounds so wicked wise

when it’s spoken

as I’m strokin’ the stubble on my chin, in thoughtful emulation

of a pewter paperweight.

 

There really are no strategies, no words of wonder

wherein Epiphany resides.

It’s all in how you sing it- the words are mundane.

You bring the thunder inside.

Author's Note

I think we all can read here
now trust yourself and reach out with an opinion, i appreciate any help
make a better world one poem at a time- yeah, i'm as corny as you are cool and creative-

Reviews

[Alice]

With those words, Joe.
A perfect perfect flow
rises easy as a note
from deft lips and slips
to mingle unnoticed
in it's fluidity
with the bloodstream,
making pins and needles tingle
down spines, scorns the idiocy
of lesser rhyme,
and all is lesser than Joe's delight
in skipping through language
like child over rope,
never tripping, though vivid enough
to make us feel we are.

Nothing constructive, sorry, the weave is too tight and my threads too broad.

[Zatoichi]

This poem is one of my favorites; I feel as if you get me as a writer more than most.
I hope you see these words; I miss your writing and hope to encounter you again one day.
All the best to you and yours. 🙃

[Emily B]

I guess the changes in the cafe re-shuffled our playlists. I've never seen this one. But it's nice. I took the girls to see the Affrilachian Poets at Berea college last year. It was an amazing thing to see Anna listen to Norman Jordan. He had her eating out of the palm of his hand and she was six at the time.

Longfellow wrote about the humbler poet whose songs dripped from his heart / as showers from the clouds of summer / or tears from the eyelids start. / Who through long days of labor / and nights devoid of ease / still heard in his sould the music / of wonderful melodies.

I don't know about you, but I can always tell when a poet is just stringing words along to be pretty or whether they come from some place deeper. Pretty is nice, but deeper makes me gush.

[Greg Skura]

Well done! i enjoyed the almost sureal imagery throughout this poem. As i read i was right there rubbing my stubble and thinking about my cleft, that is absofriekinlutely hilarious.lol! It is all about impression and expression! :)

[Blue Sky]

delighting the reading senses, very intriguing thoughts to a world of words and thoughts thereafter...


There really are no strategies, no words of wonder

wherein Epiphany resides.

It's all in how you sing it- the words are mundane.

You bring the thunder inside.


I felt a bit of the clash from the thunders as I read, this rocks...and i like the closing line, very much!!

[Adela Muresan]

Amazing poem.

The talent you speak of ,to bring the thunder inside, is something not anyone can do � it's a gift.
Your ideas are very well presented in an objective-subjective kind of way.

A.M.

[Hedra Helix]

ohhh yes, I was thinking that half way in, its not the words but the person, the thought meld that comes through, how much of you can you show with twists of toned meaning.

yep dude dig it for its totality. and clarity, and cos I hear that pretty beat that's distinct and you best at the end.