This Capacity to Create
It sits there,
as it tends to do,
and she asks,
"Are you creating me,
or am I creating you?"
The pen,
of course,
does not express
its hue,
too subtle in tone,
too forgettable,
this, which is so regrettable.
She wishes
to go back
in her mind,
to the time
before
this feeling
burned her insides.
The struggles
to maintain
a sort of coherent resistance
against the same old norm.
Cascading
and
Crashing
she cannot
separate herself
from the
storm.
*author's note- response to Challenge on "Dada"art (found poetry)created by @Last. Firstly, I must say I was quite delighted to see this Challenge posting, as I had been perusing through my poetry books and alighted upon a certain poem, and then set out to find a Challenge to match it(;
Found this Challenge straightaway, and after a bit of research on the "Dada" movement, I was once again reminded of the wonderment of all that is that we do not know, because of course, this was perfect, exactly what I needed to read right now, exactly the avenue of my thoughts as of late. The words of Alan Watts had been bouncing around in my mind, just today, even, as he gently counsels in one of his lectures not to take life too seriously. Does that mean there are not serious issues? Of course not. But we must pick and choose, or we will miss out on the point; to enjoy this damning existence. The other take on this, which is more in alignment with the Dada philosophy, in my interpretation, that is, is that humans can be so damn ridiculous, with all their puffed up pride and embarrassing arrogance, with their twisted and unnecessary willful destruction of life and beauty and innocence. To the point of their own stupid hell bent self extinction. And sometimes, the only response to such an absurdity is to answer with more absurdity. I would also like to note how overjoyed I was to see a photograph of a group of Dada artists. They looked like such a playful, insightful bunch. Too bad that was circa 1920; I would've loved to make their acquaintance (; Sincerely, Beccawaits