The Curious Adventures of Gordan's Thoughts

PRODIGAL POETRY

(Inspired by the SAT 2018-19 Wordlist)

I was adamant about writing
this aberration of a poem
However boisterous, brusque
However bombastic or brazen

A cacophony of words
concocted on the screen
A decorous debauchery
derived
from the dictionary

What eccentric elicitation
to evoke an efficacy
I simply cannot fathom
this fastidious fidelity

Tis grandiose grandiloquence,
garrulous to say the least
Yet somehow this heterogenous hegemony
reflects the dreams of a hedonist

It takes an idiosyncratic iconoclast
to integrate such irrevocable irreverence
Just to juxtapose the difference
between the jubilant and the judicious

By now, half of you are pining for kudos
and the other half await the knell
For some, language is lucid and heavenly;
to others, it’s licentious, lethargic – it’s hell

For me, I’m a maverick at manifesting manuscripts,
but mercurial when mitigating a myriad of metamorphoses
And you? Are you a nomadic neophyte?
Or a nefarious novice fighting the nebulous fight?

These questions have no ostensibly objective answers –
From the perspective of the young, the old are obsolete
In the eyes of the elders, youth are oblivious to orthodoxy
Each finds the other to be onerous and obstinate
Blinded by humanity’s ostentatious opulence

Such are the paradoxical paradigms that perplex people:
Are we the partisans of pejorative pathology?
Are we the potentate of a precocious precipice?
Or are we plainly presumptuous in our prepossessing preponderance?

What could quench this quixotic quagmire?
What could quell this quandary of querulous queries?
Reveling in the rebellion of words that we write
Wondering if this recalcitrant rant can be reprieved.

This surfeit of saliently scrupulous syntax
Though superfluous, the sagacity is surreptitiously stoic
The torturous tirade tells tales of temperance
Of tenable temerity, truculently intrepid

For utilitarian purposes, a utopia usurped
To allude the understanding of ubiquitously underrated words
Vehemently variegated yet vociferous and verbose
Though the veracity is venerable, the vacillation is vacuous

Such wanton and whimsical words have been written
Some winsome and others wistful. So wallow in sorrow
Over why the list did not have xenophobic,
Nor xylography, or xerosis, not even xenolithic!

But somehow they’ve included “yoke”…
…this most certainly is a joke!
This effort zealously zooming to zenith
to await the final zephyr

 

MG

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Space,
as in the place
in our universe
where the planets
are placed?

Space,
as in the pauses
between sentences
where the spaces
are placed?

Space,
as in the boxes
of rooms we pay for
where the economy
defines our place?

Space,
as in the metaphorical oxygen
you need in order to breathe
because you’ve been suffocated by
a partner who doesn’t
know her place?

Space,
as in the physical reflection
of a human ego,
the amount one needs
so that they can grow?

Space,
as in conceptual nothingness
to remind you of everything
you now realise is meaningless
all because you wanted this thing…

…called space?

Space.

 

MG

 

Write a poem without a theme
A concoction of words across the screen
Nothing of meaning
Lacking in feeling
Write a poem that’s easier than breathing

Here’s that poem for which you asked
Wearing frivolous diction as a mask
A few minutes pass
And alas
Here’s that poem I have been tasked

What’s the purpose of this poem?
I can’t find a reason, I just don’t know
Write with the flow
And this is what shows?
What is the purpose of your poem?

There is none, as declared in the first line
Or’ve you forgotten your initial desire?
A poem to write
With nothing to describe
Such was the challenge to write these lines

Well then I thank thee for such nullity
For words drenched all over in mediocrity
For mere quantity
And no quality
Thank you for sacrificing… nullity

My dear friend, you get what you ask for
And what you required was something mediocre
You wanted nothing more
Than plain and simple words
So here’s that poem you requested before

A point you may have, my comrade, touche
Your simplicity has opened my eyes today
I’d invite you stay
A fair game you’ve played
One that ended in the word “touche”.

 

MG

 

The low growl of construction
The echo of city rhythms
The flashing lights on the street
The metronome of life’s beat

Sirens all around
Noises, so loud
People scream for no reason
Regardless of time or season

Boxes and lines everywhere
Humans scattered here and there
No matter where I look, there’s a distraction
Divided into multiple factions

The rich on one side
The poor undefined
Everyone else is in the middle
Trying to get through their own riddles

Would it ever end?
Or will we continuously pretend
That we’re satisfied with all this mediocrity?
That we weren’t destined to break free?

MG

Huxley instead of Hardy
Tolstoy rather than Tolkien
Why Dickens when we’ve Dostoevsky?
Oi, Kafka! Not Kerouac!
Get more Wilde then chill with the Wordsworth
Bring in Forster and replace Faulkner

…so maybe, just maybe, we could have a generation with jobs instead of “socialist warriors”.

 

#ReviseHowYouTeachLiterature

 

 

MG

Flash fiction

 

“God, grant us world peace,” prayed the old woman.

“God, keep the art alive,” prayed the young man.

“Without chaos, there would be no art. Without art, no peace. Peace exists because of chaos, without chaos an artless world would lack peace,” said God.

 

MG

I once was young and I was naïve
I dreamed of a future where we would be
Together we’d fight, you with me
Hand in hand so sturdily

We pushed each other to rise above
The hatred thrown by the world at us
Together we fought them using our love
The assumption that it would simply be enough

Slowly we pushed each other to grow
To become… (whatever we are now)…I don’t know
We pushed so hard our unity broke
Here we both are, standing alone

Perhaps at one point we were the same
Pushed ourselves then each other away
You led me to believe we were on the same page
Yet your words were rehearsed and our fights were staged

Did you know it would come to this?
Did you know it when we first kissed?
Was this my doing, or is this your wish?
Is there still a chance, even just a bit…?

 

MG
(Narration of an observed journey)

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