Stop Making Sense, poetry by @naquoya.
Day 30 of 100 for @d-pend's Poetry Challenge
Stop Making Sense
They could have been words on a page
written in the boldest of blue ink,
instead of a subconscious rendition
of a digitalised conception-
where the filter has acted to prevent
meaning from making herself known.
So I ponder, confused. And remind myself
to stop playing this game with no rules.
Sub-atomic misperceptions all in alignment
with the many stars that still don't know my name.
Yet they sit on a chart misrepresenting themselves
as I wallow in my foretold misfortunes.
Is it to be believed? The day, the dream.
The real that holds back with web like detail,
and squashes my anger with shame and regret.
And a letter to thank me for participating.
This is the game of life, where everybody
gets a prize just for showing up, but never
for making sense of the diatribe of a
thousand lost voices all in a row.
It's not meant to make sense, it's just
meant to be lived, breathed, chopped up
and dissected, inspected, under a microscope
where life can be studied, confusion and all.
We've started exploring the cosmos. Why,
to get as far from ourselves as we can?
Yet every step we take there we are,
staring back at ourselves as we flee to the stars.
The very stars that foretold our fate.
That knew we would build from the rubble
of our own inner destruction and anxieties.
As we clamour to reach our soul's great height.
Reading Notes: This poetry is new and written exclusively for the 100 Day Poetry Challenge, which is explained in more detail here and here.
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@naquoya
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A quote from Camus springs to mind:
Reality is absurd, unyielding, devilishly indecipherable. Poetry is, I think, an expression of that, in the multitude of ways that it formulates itself in the minds of different individuals. Science can tells us so much, but it can't tell us why we need science in the first place.
This piece has a supremely confident, measured approach to that sense of the absurd. I loved the irony in this line in particular:
Looking forward to your future posts!
I think you have captured the gist of what I was getting at quite well, with a wonderful Camus quote to add to it. I do think poetry is a means to help capture that confusion, express it, maybe even loosen some of the inner paralysis. And if nothing more, to at least get some sense of low happening. I love this line you wrote:
Thank you for adding to my words in such a valuable way.
If we actually stop making sense, I wonder what this world would look like. But a lot of things would certainly make sense.
The sweet smell of irony. Which is what the title is really alluding to, given not much actually does make sense. Plus it was the title of a Talking Heads album which I really liked.
They could have been words on a page
written in the boldest of blue ink,
instead of a subconscious rendition
of a digitalised conception-
where the filter has acted to prevent
meaning from making herself known.
I love these lines.
Sometimes the words flow, even if i don't know where they are leading (at the time). These lines formed the basis of what was to come. My own subconscious rendition.
What a revealing poem, friend @naquoya. I do not know why I feel that poetry is reverberating those thoughts in many of us, but its safe and serene perspective puts on the table an interesting topic, too. Excellent work!
Yes, poetry can help put the apparent nonsense and absurdity of life into a more meaningful, and often beautiful, written format. At the very least I think it helps to make sense of the mental clutter.
Whoa, love that: "the stars that still don't know my name." Yes, lovely.
Thank you, glad you could find value in these words.