Academia, Adult language and themes, Author/Poet J.A. Carter-Winward, New Publication-Poetry, Personal, Poetry by J.A. Carter-Winward, Rude words, The "No" Poetry Collection, The Word, Writing, Writing in Blood, Writing Life

Pretentious Bullshit

1snob1

Did I grab your attention? Good. Look, I love writing and I love words. I really love poetry and prose that are accessible, and it’s how I try to write my stuff.

But sometimes when I deconstruct poetry, I sound like a pretentious asshat, and you need to know: I only sound like that on occasion, and it’s based on the tenor of the piece I’m reviewing (not that the piece is pretentious, mind you, but I want to give it the gravitas it deserves out of respect to the author.)

I have different writing voices, styles, and tenors, and they run the gamut. I’m a nightmare to market. I’m inconsistent in every way but one: I always write from my guts, my emotional states (which fluctuate according to my chronic, incurable human nature), and my skilled-but-skewed left-brain, which is in charge of making sure what I write makes sense.

In other words, I could be totally full of shit. I’m okay with that. You can be, too. Or not. Up to you. I got my B.S. degree in writing, and it’s taken me a good 40+ years to get it. I’ve got a CV void of publication creds from obscure (or even known) undergrad journals or literary magazines, and my knowledge and experience with life, writing, and being a person comes from my actual vitae.

I write what I know and love. I write stuff I make up in my head. I write stuff based on what I think is interesting. I don’t have a process or formula. I know the rules just enough to break them on occasion. I know what I like and what I don’t. I happen to use a vocabulary filled with words I love and use all the time, and if it sounds like I use them to impress, I don’t. It’s how I speak and write.

On that note, I’d like to share a poem with you from my last published collection called “parts.” no regrets mock

It’s in the third book of my “No” trilogy.  The poem sums me up, and I use lots of rude words and naughty themes. Brace yourself and deal, or not.

Oh, and enjoy.

You can listen to me read it in my soft-FM-jazz voice by clicking the link below from the Audible version, or read it (below), or hey, do both…whatever tightens your nut sack or rocks your tits.

Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Peace, and as always–

Je te vois (which is French and as you’ll hear in the poem, it’s not pretension, it’s just that I speak a little French, and I’m a Francophile [aka wannabe French], stuck in fucking Utah. That is all.)

Parts

 

parts

i am made up of parts
that don’t match,
yet
these parts make up a cohesive self—

my brain is made up
of a mormon woman scorned
by her male-centric church,
crossed with charles bukowski,
carol brady, and cat woman.

the other part of my brain is
a metrosexual caveman
who plays rugby,
classical piano, and who jerks off
to porn on sunday afternoons.

my arms are soft,
yet cut like a body-builder’s
when i flex.

my torso is an hourglass
half full of creamy stout,
broken glass and bruises.

my ass is brazilian.
my tits are scottish.
my legs are short,
muscular tree stumps
that hide in skirts,
never wear shorts,
and can lift two-hundred lbs.
on the seated press.

my lungs are from the netherlands
my heart is french
my soul is bohemian
my cunt is a hungry whore
who hails from spain.

my feet are chinese
my hands are miniature
tea-cup poodles.

my eyes are darts
seeking a board to impale.

my mouth is a cupid’s bow
linked to my quivering spanish cunt.

my guts
are warlords from mongolia
crossed with visigoths.

my words are sirens
hailing the coming

of a shit storm.

–j.a. carter-winward, “parts”

no regrets.

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