On Poetry

Poetri Addikt
by Precious Yett

Hi, my name is Precious
& I am a poetri addikt.
I have been for fifteen years now
& I haven’t been able to quite kick the habit.
I’ve tried short stories, novels, books, plays
But my craving for poetri never…quite…goes…away
I am a poetri addikt.
I’m hooked on the lilt in my voice
When I speak it
The way my mind goes into a trance
When I hear it
The sexiness of pen pushing against paper
Just won’t quit
I am a poetri addikt.
It seduces me while I’m sleeping
Kisses me softly when I’m snoring
Wakes me up to breakfast in the morning
I have my daily dietary staple of
Ink and creative juices
No solids for me, please.
I might regurgitate after last night’s reverie
Only repetition, assonance, and the occasional spondee
[Almost full]
Now I’ll take some concatenation, conceit, and maybe a dactyl
For dessert I’ll have some free verse
To feed my overactive, starving imagination
Unfortunately, I’m still not quite satiated
My high not quite elevated
I am a poetri addikt!
(Like a Cookie Monster of lyric)
I even take double doses of Prosody
Which is what the doctor prescribed me
To ease the withdrawal
But often I neglect it
Just take my vehicle and roll
Singing Winehouse’s “they tried to make me go to rehab, I said no/no/NO!”
”I am a poetri addikt!
Laughing I write on my skin
I’ve been caught somehow without my precious pen and paper
So I try to not regret writing on my brand new jeans
With a thick, black permanent marker after zoning out again
I am a poetri addikt
I can’t help it
I can’t help IT!
I’ve been in and out of counseling, classes, workshopping, detox
It doesn’t matter-nothing helps
There is a decree written on my soul that states
“Wherever poetri is, you go too”
& in superscript “so easy a Caveman can do it!”
Plus there’s an illegal amount in my bloodstream
Which causes me to not be able to go cold turkey
I am a poetri addikt
Ah, thank you for my fix!

Urghhh!
by Logan Blackmon

I don’t write poetry.
I just don’t know how.
I don’t’ do love.
I don’t do hate.
I don’t do feelings.
I don’t do abstract.
I’ve got nothing.
Type. Type. Type.
Delete Everything.
Type. Type. Type.
Delete Everything.
I’ve been staring at the computer for hours.
Today, yesterday and the day before that.
I’m running out of time.
I can’t find any words to rhyme.
Let’s see,
I talked about parenthood, college, love and beauty.
But I read it out loud and it sounds nothing like it did in my head.
Urghhhh!
I’m shutting down the computer now and I’m going to bed.