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The Soul of Dissatisfaction

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As I reported in my blog, the local Adelaide poetry reading society has decided to trial 3 minute readings instead of 4 minutes.

I wasn't happy about this and so last night I read a poem I wrote to show them what they might miss if they adopt this policy.

Anyway I thought you might like to read the poem. I had the poetry group time-watcher, deliberately interrupt me at the end where the ... are. I was pleasantly surprised by spontaneous cheers and applause at the end of the reading. The poem itself I read in two voices alternating between aggressive and lyrical for the best effect. It's not an easy poem to read, being more dramatic than is usual.

The Soul of Dissatisfaction ?2009

By DesDownunder

I'm discontent but it's not yet winter,

My vexation is not a winter rage,

But a man made storm that deprives,

The poetic life of spirit and age.

Every moment of every day is,

Opportunity to be an artist,

To live life completely to the fullest,

To see a poem in every tree,

To breathe love into life and accept,

The breath it returns to you in its kiss.

But interrupted kisses are most foul,

And life's riddles are left unrequited,

Or unmitigated quests unanswered,

For the asking of who, what, where and why,

Have as yet made demands on life to pry,

And reveal we have looked just hard enough,

Only to find we know we do not know,

And think that means we need question no more,

That we might slumber in our ignorance,

Now explained and horribly accepted,

On its terms despite our dreams of knowing,

The secret of the meaning for all life.

So in dissent I did search for answers,

To the age old riddle that plagues us all,

From bottomless pits of the ocean's depths,

To summits atop mountain paths, I looked,

I read old scrolls in dry ancient deserts,

And meditated 'neath suns, moons and stars,

Foregoing all worldly delectations,

While participating in all their joys,

No secret was revealed to me in haste,

I came to know the riddle of the beast,

But more than that I found a way to tell,

All who'd listen without need of a spell,

And to fill ignorance's empty cup,

With knowledge of life's only sane reason for existence,

That I will now...I'm sorry, dissatisfactory as it is,

I must stop,

My three minutes are up.


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