I pause for a poem or two, because I write them...
How Having a Kooky Uncle
Can Scar Children For Life
Watch the colors
The director's choice
Of colors
I yell
As a zombie
Buries canines
And incisors
Into a soccer mom's
Shoulder.
Let's go to
The park now
They say
Ignoring my madness
The way the masses
Ignore a bum
On a park bench.
They'll be ok.
Natural Lighting
the generous
sun
casts an enormous
shadow of my penis
on the
cold steel
of the
laundry basin.
-Thomas L. Vaultonburg
Now that's poetry. To be more specific, it's a couple notches above mediocre Outsider Poetry, for two reasons. The poet has no formal training or associations, and has a disability that has altered the path of his creative journey. Feeling alienated or left out is certainly a terrible feeling, but that type of self-identifying oneself as an Outsider does not make it so. When we refer to an Outsider Poet or Artist we're not speaking prepositionally, or giving them that label in reference to where they stand in the community as much as trying to identify what limitations and obstacles they face in first the creative process, and later in finding an audience for their creativity. I have a real distaste for those who double dip and want to identify with some sort of Outsider or small press movement, but then go inside the walls of the college and public supported arts system to feed at the trough, Feed, but relinquish your false claims of being an outsider.
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