10-04-2005, 06:29 PM
I'm actually a business owner and computer network engineer,
but in my heart of hearts I struggle with the desire to express
myself in the world. I do not claim to be a writer, but I do
a lot of forum posting. Just for the hell of it, I'm including 2
small pieces.
One is a 'poem' (I didn't even realize it was a poem until I started
studying modern-sytle poetry this morning) about how to modfiy
one's neural circuitry to enhance creativity and empathy.
The other is a 'poem' I wrote to describe how I discovered my
temperment might be appropriate for the writing of this one
narrow style of 'poem' despite my HUMONGOUS writing block.
--
"Become the Beauty"
Suggestion:
Find an object or aspect of nature you find beautiful (not a person).
Park yourself in front of it.
Notice your feelings of appreciation for the beauty.
Lean into the feelings.
Feed them.
Expand on them.
When thoughts arise in your mind, your inner dialogue, just ignore them.
They have no value of any kind.
Sit quietly with the beauty. Fill yourself with it. Notice that while you contemplate the beauty with passion, that 'you' cease to exist.
Yet you still live.
This beauty you feel, if you could bottle it and carry it around with you,
and express it to others - would make you a poet.
The thing is...
You CAN bottle it (your body is the container). Your body has legs so you can carry it. You have lips so you can express it.
This state of beauty knows no pain, no inner dialogue and it is YOU.
You don't need the jailer any longer.
-Kevin Cann
--
"Concrete, Free-Form, Prose-Verse!"
Those words say it all.
I've known for years that I both love and hate words.
Hate is attached to words, due to the maelstrom of narrative worries
that I once allowed to dominate my mind's scape.
Love of expression,
with beautiful flair - the opposing principle not contrived.
Strange I thought myself to be, with white-space
preoccupation, til knowledge of Concrete prose
was just recently obtained.
Concrete prose, a modernist style, concerned with textual
presentation; differentiated from lyrical rhythmic metered verse,
appeals to a being, once fractured by autism's pain.
Oh why should I argue? Whine? coerce and constrain,
when mind hungers for soundless, Concrete, free-verse's
soul-liberating refrain?
I wonder, should innmost muse be freed,
would it be possible to pour out my
learnings,
in this form I love,
to fulfull my deepest life-long need?
-Kevin Cann
but in my heart of hearts I struggle with the desire to express
myself in the world. I do not claim to be a writer, but I do
a lot of forum posting. Just for the hell of it, I'm including 2
small pieces.
One is a 'poem' (I didn't even realize it was a poem until I started
studying modern-sytle poetry this morning) about how to modfiy
one's neural circuitry to enhance creativity and empathy.
The other is a 'poem' I wrote to describe how I discovered my
temperment might be appropriate for the writing of this one
narrow style of 'poem' despite my HUMONGOUS writing block.
--
"Become the Beauty"
Suggestion:
Find an object or aspect of nature you find beautiful (not a person).
Park yourself in front of it.
Notice your feelings of appreciation for the beauty.
Lean into the feelings.
Feed them.
Expand on them.
When thoughts arise in your mind, your inner dialogue, just ignore them.
They have no value of any kind.
Sit quietly with the beauty. Fill yourself with it. Notice that while you contemplate the beauty with passion, that 'you' cease to exist.
Yet you still live.
This beauty you feel, if you could bottle it and carry it around with you,
and express it to others - would make you a poet.
The thing is...
You CAN bottle it (your body is the container). Your body has legs so you can carry it. You have lips so you can express it.
This state of beauty knows no pain, no inner dialogue and it is YOU.
You don't need the jailer any longer.
-Kevin Cann
--
"Concrete, Free-Form, Prose-Verse!"
Those words say it all.
I've known for years that I both love and hate words.
Hate is attached to words, due to the maelstrom of narrative worries
that I once allowed to dominate my mind's scape.
Love of expression,
with beautiful flair - the opposing principle not contrived.
Strange I thought myself to be, with white-space
preoccupation, til knowledge of Concrete prose
was just recently obtained.
Concrete prose, a modernist style, concerned with textual
presentation; differentiated from lyrical rhythmic metered verse,
appeals to a being, once fractured by autism's pain.
Oh why should I argue? Whine? coerce and constrain,
when mind hungers for soundless, Concrete, free-verse's
soul-liberating refrain?
I wonder, should innmost muse be freed,
would it be possible to pour out my
learnings,
in this form I love,
to fulfull my deepest life-long need?
-Kevin Cann