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A Flock of Sparrows for Majel: Most Poets Are Some Other Poet

A Flock of Sparrows for Majel

(About a 10 minute read)

“Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.” ― Oscar Wilde

I. Insufferable Snark

Hi, Poet.

Hi, You!


Hey, you enthralled heart,
You passionate devotee of the
Great Gut-Slugging,
Slut-Goddess of Love,
Suffering, Lost Causes, Crushed Dreams,
Forlorn Hopes, Teenage Self-Images,
And Poets!


Thank you. Thank you!
I most humbly thank you,
I most HUMBLY thank you.

I cannot help but feel most profoundly,
So very much feel profoundly,
The fullest honor and pleasure
Of having my pathetic
And humiliating existence
At last acknowledged by such
An Esteemed Artist
and World-Renown Wonder
Of Word-Smithery
As no doubt your mother
Is the only person on earth
To truly believe you are,

What? You don’t know me?
You don’t recognize me?
Hah! Well, you should, you know.

You certainly should!

You should recognize me
Faster than a murderous cliché
Can push, shove, bully
Your tenderest, most original,
Most creative thought
Right out of your mind’s nest,
And before it’s fledged to fly.
Shove it right out of your nest.

You should recognize me
Just as fast as that!

I’m you’re future self.
I’m the poet you have always wanted to be.
Yeah, I’m your dreams and ambitions.
You know, the dreams and ambitions that you
Don’t always treat with respect,
The fullest possible respect.

Yes, THAT self.

What? Yeah. Yeah. That’s the bad news.
You’re going to turn out insufferable,
Insufferably snarky. That’s the bad news.

The good news? Oh, the good news.
I have dropped by today
Bearing for you two gifts,
Gifts, of course, that I have…
…um…stolen from…you.

That’s right. Neither gift,
Neither one is available
From any source but you.

Naturally, I am referring
To your creativity
And to your authentic, true voice.

You just can’t buy those gifts
From anyone but you yourself.

So let’s get right down to business.
Let’s waste no more time
On the happy pleasantries of meeting
Each other. And what a pleasure it’s been,  you donk!
Let’s waste no more time with introductions.

But please, please,
Cut out the weeping!
Turning into an Insufferable Snark
Won’t be all that bad.
Bad, of course, but not THAT bad.

II. Your Water

Look, you have heard this before.
Deep down in you runs a river.
Sometimes it’s a hidden spring.
Its waters run fresh and sweet and pure.

You have been told before now.
This is your river.
Your water.
The water you yourself thirst for.
The water for you.

Your water.

The only water that will quench your thirst.
The only water that is for you alone.

You have heard that before.

You have heard that news before.
It is now ancient news.
Everyone knows it.
It has traveled to every sea, every shore.
It has even been confirmed.
Confirmed uncountable times.
You already know this ancient news.

But do you know the whole news?
The whole of it?

Only a few, a rare few
Will ever drink of it, their water.
And those few who do will mostly taste it
But a few times in their lives.

Wells are dug.
Millions of wells are dug.
Every moment somewhere a million people
Are digging wells.

Most diggers reach water, quickly reach water.
There’s so much, so much water to be found.

Most diggers are thirsty,
They are quick to drink.
Too quick to drink.
Far too quick to drink.

There is much water to be found
But it’s someone else’s water.
It’s old water, ancient water —
It’s only true water for someone else.

The diggers fill their mouths
Until their mouths are full, completely full.
So full, they can no longer speak.

Speak in their own voice, their true voice.
They open their mouths
Only to spew out someone else’s water.
Always someone else’s water.

III. Fuck it!

All this talk of water!
So much talk of water!
“Water, water everywhere
And not a drop to drink!”

You’ve heard it all before,
It’s all ancient news.
So Let’s fuck this ancient news!

I mean really fuck it.
Really fuck it.

Fuck it until we knock it up.
Fuck it until its pregnant.
Fuck it until something
Fresh and new might come of it.

Let’s fuck this ancient news!
So, please join with me in a ménage à trois —
You and me (who are me), and the news —
And then let’s fuck this ancient news!

Now let’s not forget the foreplay.
Let’s never forget the foreplay.
For you know, foreplay is crucially key,
Vital to every decent fuck.

Here, the foreplay is a question,
A question we should quest to answer:
What the fuck
Is that water? What does “water” really mean?
Before we go much further
We should touch on, feel out,
Lay our hands on, and tenderly explore,
What “water” really means.

Of course, the water is your truth
The truth you honestly see.
The world in your eyes.
The only, only world you yourself really see.

Ironically, you might be wrong.
Maybe you’re seeing a tree and calling it a cow,
Maybe you’re not seeing the tree at all,
But it’s still your honest truth.

Ironically, you might be wrong.
But it’s still your only true and real voice,
The only voice that’s you,
The only voice that’s not someone else’s voice.
The only voice that’s you.

Learn your facts from the best,
The best sources you can find.
Study the sciences, the arts, and all the rest,
Get the straightest facts you can find.

But dig for your own interpretations,
Dig down far, as far as you can go
To find the meanings that are yours.
The meanings you honestly believe.
The meanings you truly believe.

Dig down deep, deep beneath
Anything you can doubt.

So do you want to be creative?
Do you want to create yourself?
Do you want to be the artist,
The true artist of your own soul?

So many are the skilled craftsmen
Who know all and every technique
For precisely joining materials
To make things that are beautiful and fine.

So few are the artists
Who find and speak
In their authentic voice,
Who can create their own souls
Or at the least affirm them a bit.

Do you want to be true to you?
Do you want to be real,
Be real and not a mask?
Be real and not a front?

Do you want to live as yourself,
And not repeat someone else’s life?
Or would you prefer a pirate
Stole your soul and gave you
His parrot instead?

Then seek your honest voice!
Then seek your honest voice!
Don’t stop digging before you dig
Through what you only think is yours.
Never stop digging before you dig
Through what you might mistake as yours.
Never stop digging until you dig
Through all the things you can doubt are true.

Slow lovers are the best,
Good fucks take their time.
So patiently dig down deep, as deep as what is you.
So patiently seek out your honest voice,
The voice that’s really you.

Seek out, hunt down, find, close in,
And kill your honest voice!
Kill your honest voice!

Hold on! Wait! Stop right there!
That didn’t sound right! Sorry! Wrong metaphor.
You got me too excited, you sexy thing.
Who would have thought you knew my kinks?
Who told you to bring a thorny yellow whipping rose
And a car full of circus clowns?
You got me so excited, you naughty, naughty thing.
So excited I jumped my metaphors.

But how do you get to that water?
And how do you draw it up?

Oh! I see you’re already hot.
I see you want the ins and outs now.
I see you want to penetrate
(Or maybe it’s you’re receptive now,
Maybe it’s you’re ready to receive).
So let’s proceed to fuck!

(Is this good for you?
It’s feeling good to me.
Just please the gods!
Don’t let me cum!
Don’t let me cum just yet!)

There are many ways to get to the water.
There are many ways to drill down to your honest voice.
Many more ways than one.
Many positions you can try,
Even many more techniques than that.

And there’s lots of advice, good advice, for all of that
No need to rewrite the manual here.
No need to turn this poem into a manual.
It’s all been said by others.
It’s all out there somewhere you can find it.

But how do you draw that water up?
How do you get it out of the ground?

Again, there are already many manuals
On how to draw that water up.
No need to repeat it all here.

The one and only thing I think you might find new
Is drill until you find what you yourself
Cannot truly doubt is true!

Even if all you find sometimes
Is just “I don’t know for sure”.
Even if that’s all you find,

That will be you, really you.

Yet more often you will find drilling down,
Drilling all the way down, lies not only your own voice,
But your creativity, too. But you’re creative you.
My gods! I’m so sorry, but I think I’m done!

I’m so sorry I came too soon!
I tried so very hard
So very hard to make this fresh and true.
And damn, but I did indeed!
I made it true, so true to me.
For I always cum too soon.

But I hope I’ve made you hot!
I hope I’ve given you tease enough
That your really hot now!
Go have fun!
I’m off to clean myself up.
I’m off to clean us up.

This poem was inspired by a post of Sarah’s over on the Fresh Hell blog. You can find her excellent and useful post here.

3 thoughts on “A Flock of Sparrows for Majel: Most Poets Are Some Other Poet”

  1. Lol! I think you got distracted and changed metaphors halfway through!
    Though finding your own truth is an excellent point. And taking TIME. Practice is (another) thing I’d neglected to mention in my post.

    Liked by 1 person

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