When putting finger to keys,
recent flourishes of expression
tend to be distraught productions!
Thus I contribute to poetry's patent pros of sadness.
How is it, that this is the patent?
Could it be,
sorrowful soliloquies intrude
a person's place
unannounced,
spreading itself onto your couch
feet sprawled upon the central fixture,
the table upon which
all living room operations are managed!
Your favorite coffee table
is now at the mercy of this visitor.
While they scroll your Netflix suggestions.
In such cases, if we were to articulate one's
neural activities,
which naturally accessible,
and neatly available,
would account the occupation
of this menace!
Whilst joy and elation,
do they visit as frequently?
Perhaps their commute is longer
so more often they require a phone call
of sorts
to be bothered to stop by.
And when one already has the living room occupied
with authority,
by another
- unpleasant I might add-
creature...
well it can be difficult
coaxing happiness' appearance.
And so other methods may be attempted
to bring about a stay from
those who
would inspire
an alternative
position from which to write
or type
or ruminate over
and over
and over
And therein another challenge!
Even the desire,
and effort
with which one can
bring the groundhog of gratitude
from hiding
can accidentally end in producing
for that other creature,
a cot upon which to lay,
drawers into which its belongings can be stored,
racks for hanging coat and hat.
Rendering your abode a hostel for that hostile,
And you,
a hostage to its habits.
And so maybe that is why
there is this general impression
for writings
by those
whose inclination
is to frequent their living space
and articulate its happenings.
By James Kreuz
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