Joan, Bob and Ginsberg by Anant Dhavale

on

|

views

and

comments

Joan, Bob, and Ginsberg

If you had known Joan and Bob

you would have said they were such crazies –

her hauntingly beautiful voice

his wildly cataclysmic fantasies of words

floating o’er rows of dancing girls

though often devoid of coherence

high on the euphoria of their drunken age


and there, in these frenzies of stupor and pain and trance

Ginsberg read his poems

of protest

and the madness of his times


who knew we would walk again

after these many years

into the same turmoils


but where are the voices of protest

as strong as

Ginsberg’s

as poetic


the seventies weren’t that long ago folks

if you find the grand Inquisitor

relevant still


I may have written a few poems

here and there

but it doesn’t matter much


for these are different times, though the agonies remain


we like memes

and cat videos and take selfies

find our gullible nirvanas in seeking nods

and discuss our lives in YouTube comments


and though I like Joan and Bob

I would much rather sit and read

Ginsberg’s poems

of madness

and protest


but that’s beside the fact

that the times have changed


though the agonies remain

Anant has been writing poetry since his late twenties. He attempts to explore the intricacies of the human mind and the cultural milieus that it breathes in through a conversational style of poetry. His poems seem to emanate from an urgent and pressing need to ‘word’ the abstract. He occasionally tends to omit punctuation from his poems, in part to preserve the urgency and flow of words. He blogs frequently at www.newagepoems.blogspot.com and publishes his poems on social media apps such as Facebook and Instagram. Anant lives with his wife and son in Herndon, Virginia, and can be reached at anantdhavale@gmail.com.

Image by Rowland Scherman, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Share this
Tags

Must-read

Two Poems by Jenna Cipolloni

Quarry The sun looks higher here by the quarry Daylight savings a forgotten grumblefor the sleep-deprived days of yestermonth. The time is truly 6:49, but soon thebiddies...

Two Poems by Faith Cotter

Beat An amniotic lake within meand you, floating then the deafening silence,static nothingness where I expected sound. For a week I am a shipwrecknot split open on rocky...

Two Poems by Ori Soltes

Late in the Game We sleep peacefully,side-by-side,except, by chance,when she or I turn outward, to the edgeof our plush and well-shaped bed. Never inward, it would...
spot_img

Recent articles

More like this

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here