As regular readers know, I like to walk places I haven't walked before.
What I don't like is overpasses. And underpasses. And weird turny-roads. And hills that lead to indeterminate destinations.
I ran into all of these this morning walking home in the blazing sun with no sleep from the Folk Fest. I knew where I was. I could see where I wanted to go. And in between those two points...a labyrinthine swirl of bridges, and under- and overpasses. Lanes here, lanes there...it looked like of Dream Theater's Systematic Chaos album cover.
The good news is, I made it successfully.
The other good news is it inspired me to poetry.
I've entitled the following Haiku "Walking From the Muttart to Jasper Avenue On No Sleep Under The Killer Sun."
Hot, Tired, Pissed Off
I wish I were dead right now
Cars speed to oblige
It isn't as powerful translated into English (tired is two syllables, purists). Read in the original language, it looks like this:
Fucking Fuckery
Fucking Fuckety Fuck FUCK!
HOLY FUCKING SHIT!
2 comments:
OMG! The power of original language. I totally GET it now. Poetry can be so deep...
Do you accept unsolicited emails from female bloggers? I'd love to send you one about my latest comment on Rori's blog (to you) but I don't see a link here.
Oh well...the email would have mostly just said "So...still like my comments??" LOL
I hope you're not taking offense to anything I say there. I enjoy the role of devil's advocate...and I learn more when I get into a battle of what he would do vs what she would do. Someday I'll find the right guy to do a "He Said She Said" type of blog with me, but for now, most of the men I meet agree with me (and that doesn't make much fun for the readers now does it?).
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