has a new look

Go to the new

Poetry by James Morrill 





© 2007 James Morrill






Mediocrity As An Art Form

Bad poems. Bad Food. Bad Company.
Bad Conversation.
Bad with no good to equal out
the scales.
Watch a Bad movie or some Bad TV
I know better it's hard to see any good
now, but there's these perfect days,
they come along once in awhile,
when the weathers perfect, and
your welfare just kicked in and you
finally can have a good meal,
maybe even exchange some intellectual
banter with someone good.
Then you go home, sit down with a pen,
and the words are good and the flow
is good and smooth and the longing for
a different life weakens as the dream dies
and the numbers of your age go up,
you start accepting mediocrity
as an art form.





Chinese Water Torture
There's a slow drip and
April is about over, I
Realized on this depraved
Sweaty Saturday, almost 8:00 clock
And the racist sky refuses to
Blacken and I am strange
And slow entwined with
This night, with a strange ailment,
Something that you'd catch
In Vietnamese heat.
The fan is loud
The birds are louder.
And tonight they're
Celebrating something
Like everyone else.
So I'm alone with a
Tightened up digestive system
And the cogs of
My rusted insides barely
Turn as I hear the
Drip. Drip. Drip. And
Now it's my own sweat
As this Chinese water torture

Keeps me up.






All work is property of James Morrill.




[back to top]  [home]

© 2007 SubtleTea Productions   All Rights Reserved