Poetic Practice - Title at the end.

Writing this didn't take long but one thing that's gotten me is the structuring, it is not appealing when I stare at it. The meaning is there, I will not reveal as I am more interested in what people feel when they read without my direction. But then again the title will probably give it away.

In fact I think I will ramble on the merits of the practice I have done so far in this quest for poetic perfection. How in some ways it seems like I am calmed. I know it sounds very cliché but then again the journey I think for poets is kind of esoteric and ambiguous at times. Then again I may just be describing my journey so far.

It is weird that even when I write this I am using esoteric phrases to describe the process. It is an art form. With words.

I remember when I was in high school and did my three unit Art class for my HSC (High School Certificate - years 11 and 12 high school for those that don't know) I would have these poems that I wrote within my art journal. I think at the time it was mostly love poems which I sold to my friends. Or even write a poem for a fee.

I cant seems to do those well now. I haven't written one in about twenty years. Whoa time flies when you blink more than once.

There is no greater achievement that surviving your death feeling when you were young. Now its all hanging on a string held by a monkey being enticed with a banana behind a wall of fire. If it lets go of the string, the fire will spread, killing it. If it holds on an lives it will starve.

The dilemmas one creates sure give a new meaning to what is the meaning of life supposed to be.

Poem title: Let the man ramble on so the crowds will have no choice but to hear hoping they will listen.

It's a long one and is out of character with poetic precedence.

I think a shorty one would be Hearing without listening.

Well I will leave you now.