For the Love of Words
by Diana J Legun
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Not rated by the Author.
Print Save Become a Fan
New York playwright Andrew R. Gurney, author of "Love Letters" wrote this: "I feel most alive when I'm holed up in some corner, writing things down. I pick up a pen, and almost immediately everything seems to take shape around me....I love writing letters to the newspaper, notes to my friends, Christmas cards, anything where I have to put down words...This letter, which I'm writing with my own hand, with my own pen, in my own penmanship, comes from me and no one else, and is a present of myself to you...It's not a telephone call, which is dead as soon as it's over."
*brought to you by the unknown vocabulary words I had to look up throughout the second half of Jack London's Martin Eden.
I sit and think of paltry things,
of tawdry people who
politely boast their platitudes;
these self-appointed bourgeoisie
with self-impressions to renew,
their inwardly-focused certitudes.
I see holographs of smug pretenses
spoken in meretricious ruse,
each disconcerting insolence --
the henchmens' ecclesiastic abuse,
their dogmatic admonitions
which lie curled at their boots,
The avacarious ones palliate
their eccentric complacencies
with epithets inveterate
which they vindicate prodigiously.
They can only elicit facetious proclivities
and upbraid antagonistic heretic's
antithesis as apparitions
filled with virulence,
inveigling the venerable loyalties
from states of inexorable
countenance to erratic perils
of repudiated liberals.
I extrapolate a ribald paradox
between the lugubrious bourgeoisie
and the facile avant-garde to be
a virulent vexation.