Posted by: Andrew G | February 3, 2010

Poetry Disguises Bull$#%&

… with more bull&%$#?

I’ve been snooping around the blogs of a few other people. One particularly talented guy by the name of Chris Clarke has being putting together some interesting droplets of nourishment from the Mojave Desert. His blog is called Coyote Crossing and he’s written a neat little piece on poetry here.

It looks like it was inspired by another blogger, Dana. I don’t know her that well yet but from what I’ve seen she’s got some force with words as well. She has put together a list with her friends and followers on why poetry is bull%^$#. I’m trying to keep my language clean, but she doesn’t, so fair warning (oh yea, and same goes for Chris).

I don’t think poetry is.

True, most of my attempts at poetry ended in abandoned scribblings, but a strange thing has happened to me with this blog. New evidence has come to light. If I put up poetry, people seem to check it out. It’s still too early to consider this clinical proof, of course. But I’m tempted to hypothesize that poetry gets me attention.

My bull$%@# usually inspires rolls of the eyes or some brand of condescending apathy from friends and family. But if people read my poetry, maybe there is hope.

I saw the movie Invictus last week. And I looked up the poem. It is poetry that can drag someone out of the bull$%&#, and raise someone’s chin out of the bull&%$#. It is a poem that kept Nelson Mandela, a human being in most regards, from thinking that it was all bullshit.


By William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.


In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.


Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.


It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll.

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.


Yea, it’s somebody else’s. But Morgan Freeman recites it, and his voice can make anything profound.

So, what do you think? Is it all…?

(I gotta get back to Dana’s blog now, dig into the revelations.)


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