What Is the Role of the Poet?

Makes me wonder: What is the role of the poet in society or elsewhere? I really don’t have an answer to that question, I haven’t thought about it nearly at all. And I’m going to have to, if I want to monetize the career path in any mean. I mean to say, is it about something for yourself, or something for others? A mix? Fixing? Other things?

It’s hugely complicated and I’ll try to write an essay on it at some point, if just to (among other things) prove to myself that I can still write essays. =/

We’ll see. We’ll see how this all pans out. It’s so chaotic and worrisome I really have no idea what to expect. I hope you all survive the lens flare among other demons who partake in our juicing.

While Trespassing I Note the Sadness of Old Fences — O at the Edges

While Trespassing I Note the Sadness of Old Fences I write poems when I can, in late morning or during the afternoon, between chores but before dinner. And sometimes I duck through spaces void of wire barbs, and consider how to fill the incomplete, which words, what materials could repair those particular holes. I […]

While Trespassing I Note the Sadness of Old Fences — O at the Edges

What? I don’t get it. What’s sad about this poem and the fences in it? He cuts out a hole in one in his house so his dog can get through. He makes sure it can’t escape. Somehow this is sad? I don’t get it.

There is not more than one fence in said.

Help

I torture you

To the rap

To the hip hip

Hit it

We all

We are

Sometimes

To be

Flawed

Other than

Never time

Come again

Cement the play

Hit me

Hit me like I care

Cuz I don’t

Silly butt

Shit in the face

Just like grandpa

To escape the concentrate

But of course

This is not a play

It’s always dang’rous round these parts

My words mean so little

I do what I can

Hah!

You never knew

How much I cared,

Did you.

You never knew

That I was in disguise

That I was secretly

Crying

Because of your meanness

Your ugliness.

You never knew

I was one

To spit back.

No

You remember me, the chair

You will not get anything in return

And I had better get used to that

If I am not already

Then this has surely been a painful journay

An observation (besides that some people are pricks):

I forgot

Whatever

Release: The Passage is Still

[Alternate Route]’s editor, Michael Starr, has released his first full-length volume of poetry, https://www.amazon.com/Passage-Still-Michael-Starr-ebook/dp/B092T5SK4F/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=the+passage+is+still&qid=1619920189&s=digital-text&sr=1-1 The Passage is Still. It is postmodernist abstractions lost in his thoughts about various topics of observation in his life as a mentally ill person and as a normal person, sometimes one sometimes the other.

I won’t waste your time selling you on it. It’s $3 because he’s greedy and wants that profit. But it’s about 70 pages were it a real book, so you estimate if it’s worth it. He tells me amazon is still figuring out the x-ray, which he thinks is the preview feature but he could be stupid and wrong. Maybe he just doesn’t’ know how to do it.

Well in any case. There ya have it!

Enjoy! =)

Oh yeah, it’s on Kindle only. It should be available on the Barnes Nook soonish.

PS: Yeah I looked it up, the Preview feature should be available soonish. It’s automatic but takes a few business days. Business days because we’re in business, baby.

[Alternate Route] Issue #2 (April, Spring)

I don’t remember if I announced this yet or not, but [AR] #2 is out! Yay! You can find it in the top post on our Patreon site at Patreon.com/alternate_route. You don’t have to pay, it’s free, though we appreciate donations. But yeah read at your own leisure, we like to think we have quality work, a little light on the visual arts side this quarter, but that’s alright, right?

Contributors are listed on the inside cover, but thank you shoutouts to CJ Delous, Elancharan Gunsakeran, and Afzal Sajjad Zafir, and Michael Starr for the wonderful poems! =)

Always open (as of now) for submissions, send to alternateroute.zine@gmail.com! =D

Enjoy!

Halfway

To sit up in the night,

That is the goal

(Is it not?)

Than to know that other grand great groovy thinges in the grooves of my teeth

Will tar and tartar me up the highway

Back down

Hit, cross, repercuss

Throw me cross-stitched and sewed inside

Like a hype camping

Sticks chopped

The buzz saw comes closer

What’s the point of not knowing?

How now, when we moved, to see, through the window

There, there, otherling!

There, there!

Over now, I will wander aloft

And make it easier for myself in the evenings

As the Flonase drips from my sinuses into the back of my mouth

As you make suggestions to my prose

As you wonder why it’s all so crazy

And when the next little surprise is

To ruin the whole damn scene


I wrote this thinking it was still NaPoWriMo but it’s over!~ The pain is officially over! haha, j/k.

Well anyway less pressure. But it’s gotten me into a good habit. I’ll probably write more regardless, fearing judgement less.

=)

Route of Attack

We sit up high

There are places I see from my peak that I can not reach nonetheless

In my mind exist a few

The sparsity of the phenomena

To explore

But have no say

What I mean is

There are distinct problems

That are very large

That I guess I could attack

Knew I how

At this point people call me crazy

Maybe it’s not even real

The language is simple

Overly so

But I must communicate clearly with you

I have goals

I have problems

And others have problems with my problems

So it’s pretty antagonistic

In sum

This leads to a lot of discord

And conflict

Inside and out

But for now

I’ll just get my coffee

Hop In

Send me the shadows dancing at the feet of the curtains

Three feet away

We live and breath in separate worlds

Of course the pace isn’t fast enough

By the time this sentence is done

We’ll have separated ways

No enjoinment of nature could distinguish us

We were once in love

We were once water and stone

I try to split

The disk

Under the weight of the oxygen we breath

There is no other home for us but in this cave

Smooth wry labile

What more could a mother want?

It’s rough but you c’n grind ‘t

Sable say now

Hip me doo jock

Neigh stay like ‘at

Fright may sin in wever

Wholesome, mate

Wholesome bloke

Copout

I’m not finishing this one

Go home

I got tired and left!