Robert Frost once said,
"Writing free verse
is like playing tennis
with the net down."

So I wrote him a letter:

Mr. Frost,

This letter concerns your comments on the free verse writing style.
I often find writing in free verse not only to be more powerful,
But often a more complex and challenging art form.
Just as playing tennis with the net down is a more complex and challenging game.

Don't believe me? Fine.
I challenge you to two games of tennis.
One with the net up,
And one with the net down.
I'm ready for you any day, any time, anywhere.
Just let me know when I should kick your ass.

Sincerely,
Adam Levy

To my surprise I got a letter back:

Mr. Levy,

As proposterous as your challenges seem,
I accept, and look forward to the match.
And as an avid player, I will rule supreme,
Crushing you steadily as you kick and scream
Like a little chicken with eggs to hatch.

-R. Frost. Meet me on Sunday, we'll play in my private court.

You know, it doesn't all have to mean something.
It could just sound cool.
It could just look cool.
It could just piss off those people that always search for meaning in poems and paintings showing them how wrong they are because THIS IS ART damn it! And if you don't like it, that's your problem, not mine. So deal with it!
This isn't an angry artist's rampage.
This is a Portrait of The Man as a Young Artist.
This is not opinion - it's fact.
Fact that you're too pompous to deal with, because everything good is deemed so by the art connoisseur with his or her magic eye that pops up in 3D with a meaning.
I'm sorry to tell you that it's just not so. That's just not how it is.
And if these line breaks
Have meaning, please let me know.
And I'll mock you for days, for weeks,
For years.

Tick

Patterns and rhythms shooting stars into my eyes
As I realize
It's not about truth and lies,
But what lies beneath my skeleton.
And it turns my body to gelatin.
And halogen light bulbs go off,
Sending trains of thought derailing
And sailing into one another,
Crashing into celestial sensations,
Making chills ride
The well worn path down my spine
Until they intertwine with time itself.

And I wonder,
If time stood still,
Would the bees bother it?

Tock

Cerebral ammunition
Effectively restrains cognition
As shots go firing at inhibition.
Creating a whole in the wall
And out crawls chaos
To maul the world with ever-increasing threat.
Casting dark shadows like a silhouette
Only to aid, and to abet
Making innocent eyes wet.
Chasing racing hearts
Only to lament on how uncontent
They were with how they spent
Their last moment.

And I wonder,
If time stood still,
Would the hearts beat slower?

Tick

The wind whistles in my ears
The music of the spheres,
But to me it just sounds out of tune.
And it seems too soon
That the clock struck noon,
And the mouse ran up and down
Without a sound, without a trace.
And I'm just standing there
With a dumb look on my face.
Feeling out of place.
And feeling out of time.
Feeling unsafe.
And wishing I could rewind,
Step Back,
And take a look at it again.
Pausing every now and then,
Until I can begin to understand.
And ink flows out of my pen
Like the sweet music of a violin.

And I wonder,
If time stood still,
Would my hand stop aching?

Tock

Racing down streams of consciousness
With water leaking over the brim
A grim outlook for the future
Because I don't know how to swim
Drowning in a pool of thoughts
Lost and distraught
Until I caught hold of one
And pulled my way out.
And ruminative debris
Begins to rain down on me
Sending the chills back up my spine
And the stars begin to align.
Giving me a sign,
Telling me, everything's gonna be fine.

And I wonder,
If time stood still,
Would I have understood?

Tick

And time is running out,
As I attempt
To put this jigsaw puzzle together
That is the world.
Realizing there are six billion pieces,
And that they can only go together one way.
And time is running out.

But time is always running out.
The sand in the hourglass
Won't just stop falling.
So I look at my six billion puzzle pieces
That only go together one way,
And I realize there are trillions of ways
To complete it.

And I wonder,
If time stood still,
Would it be any easier?

Tock

Tasty morsels of poetic verse that I have yet to fit into any work of my own.

"Trains of thought derailing and crashing together into (adjective) sensations"

"It's a tattoo of a jagged line
and you see it start
to break apart
and it burns a whole
in the pit of your...stomach."

"If time stood still,
I wonder,
Would the bees bother it?"

"In the bent dent of darkness
Racing hearts went
Lament on how uncontent
They were with how they spent
Their last (heart-beat) moment."

"Chills ride the well worn path down my spine
And intertwine with time itself until I go numb."

"a million puzzle pieces and they only fit together one way,
but there are a trillion ways to complete it."

My art history class has a planned trip to Italy over spring break. This trip costs $3000. Adam, does not have $3000. In an effort to accumulate these funds Adam offers the world his body to do with it what they please in return for a monetary reward. Anyone interested?