About Anything

May I write poetry about myself mostly -
May it be read as commentary, allegory
For just about anything -
May I be revered as guru, visionary.
Might I prefer to be heard,
Have my word come from me?
Might I be happy revered; elevated
Not for my work, but for me?
Might I be, even unknowingly, seeking acceptance, celebrity?

Might anybody know this poem’s about me?

Reactionary Pieces

I’d rather lather my father in bathwear
Than sit here with soeur ennui.
Go farther, gather from ether, much quicker
A sense of my sur-on-real.
Like feather – lighter – I tether, to paper,
My thought, heart, might airs rise high -
How then does her cold stare smother my love for
All things word, all fair posy?

Making? Do!

Most, if not all things
Broken down to the basics
From which they are constructed
Don’t look like much -
Sagan’s ‘lifestuff’, carbon,
Hydrogen and such,
Just elements without the ‘right’ touch.
Any writers life’s work, worth,
Just paper, ink
Before a solution is concocted
Through willingness to think,
The gluons of creativity
And the desirous duty
To make, do.
Nothing to do with,
Nought being said of
The need for sentience
To perfect life,
A sentence.
More a tip to the patterns
Born of unrelenting practice,
Error,
The worth and effect of time,
Whether enlightened to the notion
Or completely unknowing,
For any one trying.

One By One

One sound word.
A lone piece,
To serve a need.
No more.
For all past
Is add on.
Wind talk.
Serves not a soul
But those with
A want to
Be known.

Keep it chilled.
Make your point.
Let it stand,
If it can,
Bare, for all
To run by
Their self.
For what worth
Is a point lost
To your need
To sound smart,
To show off
All the big words
You know.

In plain talk,
Strong show of thought.
More folk on board
With your brand,
Your plan,
Your flow.
In short,
Much less lost,
More wide,
In the know.

Inevitable Variables

2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9.
Just write.
In moment thought
Is fine,
Of course.
From where,
If not the mind
Come ideas?
What’s the source?
Collective, communal, consciousness?
Zeroes and ones -
A pre planned program,
Fated down the to the finest fractal?
Maybe just parameters,
Room to create around the inevitable,
The unchangeable
Plotted points in time.
Something like
Improvised
Jazz,
Or my getting to rhyme this as I like,
This inevitable point.
Or
Toothies,
Treatise,
Fo’thys,
Depending on the numbers
Of visitors -
Within bounds, variables.
But,ultimately,
You’ll make the tea,
The play,
Observation,
Display to others
As if it was all yours,
This, streaming, slightly lagging connection.
Only for the making
Of the last line
To remind you,
Since it begun,
It had to end,
Some time,
As all should,
Does.
So, as in,
Out I must
Count myself
And stress not
To make a fuss -
As with all bike rides,
The ventured way
Is the returned one
2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9.