A Libation for the Liberation of Literacy

We are all human beings
We all have our own lives
And different ways we live them
But each one of us is a writer
And this poem is for all of you

All of you who have virtues and use them in your writing
Those who use flashbacks and revisit mental photo albums

Beginning the story from the middle for that’s usually where you mind is at
Looking back then looking forward 
Studying the past so you can be ready for what is to come
Recording catastrophes with a number two pencil

Tales and blurbs of tragedy
Caused by love or the lack there of
Rewards and punishment
Self-reliance and self-fulfillment

We are mere narrators
Humble, maybe unreliable
Equipped with numerous devices
Ironic Paradoxes
Red herrings
Fortuitous plot twists
Allegoric hyperboles

We sling Chekhov’s gun like bandits of literacy

We’re visionary revolutionaries
Revolution of the mind, body and soul

Changing ourselves and examining who and what we are
To become what we are destined to be
The best

Rejecting convention
Building our own paths
That lead to cliffhangers

Comedic affairs
Dark massacres
Spiritual healing

Religious speculation
And the questioning of the way we, the people are being governed
We use the tools we are giving to sculpt new art that the world can stand in awe of
Personification, Symbolic imagery
Practicing pastiche with respect
Dionysian imitation ,Surreal reality, Defying mortality, Reiteration and retort

Using nature to express emotion and thought
Doubts and fear, Opposites, Morals and ethics, Satisfying curiosity 
Parodying what we see
Embellishing just a little 

We us word play to dive deep into the topic of conscious, subconscious and unconscious thought. Using satire to poke fun at the human condition,  its senses and perception of the universe to get readers thinking

Expressing our anger, our boundless joys
Desiring unknown pleasures
Seeing past the fallacies put before us

We write with great candor about war, personal conflicts, and self-abuse
With hinting undertones to give these ideas a second thought

We write of the supernatural, metaphysical mysteries
Outlandish, obscure mind boggling theories

As the clock ticks too fast for us and the characters we’ve created
Demolishing the fourth wall with a sledge hammer of defamiliarization

Epiphanies in a parking lot
Speaking in the 1st, 2nd or 3rd person
Using fun things like anagrams and palindromes
Candy for the lovers of such things
Spontaneity is an understatement
Nonsense is an insulting overstatement
Absurdity seems to fit just right

We are chameleons
We can write in various forms
Streams of gratifying consciousness
Brilliant prose, Beautiful poetry
And chose to use or merely acknowledge the ways to achieve these forms

Rhetoric, rhythm and rhyme
Conceit and consonance
Working with phonaesthetics  
And accenting aesthetics
A poem can or could not be organized as such
If we want to get technical about it

We have a poem
With a number of verses
And in those verses
Are lines
And those lines might rhyme
And have a meter or rhythm
Stressed or unstressed syllables
In contrast to that we may write
Without all of that and use emotion

Feeling and structure our work with what we feel is the best way

Line breaks
Pauses and puns
Silly similes
Ambiguous antonyms  
Intonation, linguistics
Fight against the fascists of grammar and conservative correctness
So, in the end we are writers of a rainbow kaleidoscope forms, devices, ways and ideas
But we alone are the ones who make the world think
Make it move, Revolt, Renew, Learn
Look back, Remember, Cry, Smile, Forget, Ease

Write my friends write until your mind explodes and your fingers bleed
Read, read and become inspired
Even if what you’re reading is bad cheese

Forget getting published it’s the writing that matters
Disregard the off-putting, critical chatter

And if you think no one reads
Than be the seed and sprout a tree of astounding artistry
And let’s begin a new movement composed of ideals that will hold true forever
I might be preaching to the choir but it must be said that poetry; literature isn’t dead.

A little escape from the madness, 
Or maybe, into.



The divine scriptures are God’s beacons to the world. Surely God offered His trust to the heavens and the earth, and the hills, but they shrank from bearing it and were afraid of it. And man undertook it.
Back to top button