random poem

I think I should use this blog to get some poetry in digital form. Mostly I havenʹt written poetry in more than a decade, so only a few things were ever typed for a computer (and originally that computer was an Apple II). Hereʹs one from the late Eighties, I think.

The exhibit being described is unfortunately fictional (but then so was Keatsʹs urn); I guess thatʹs one reason to explain why poetry is fiction.


Seven spearheads of copper
and bronze
from the royal cemetery at Ur:

like ragged green tearstreaks run upsidedown

like fernfronds fused solid

like venusian fingerbones in alien dicegames—

the old metal lies idle on bloodcolored velour

in three glasscovered cases,
innocent of our breathʹs corrosion.

I now really notice a Joycean influence everywhere (here and previously): compoundwords without hyphenation or spell-checker-suggested separation. But I still like them that way. I still write that way, although in trying to submit prose and plays for publication I find myself becoming skittish and permitting the separation or hyphenation the spell checker suggests.

Another adolescent thing I still enjoy about my poetry is the sound effect. Yes, I submit to alliteration without hesitation, but sometimes the sounds work really interestingly (I think).

©2009 John Randolph Burrow, Magickal Monkey Enterprises, Ltd, S.A.

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