This poem is about having creative energies that are not honored and rewarded in our culture. Such creative energies may have difficulty finding channels to flow freely. This poem employs a magnificently mixed metaphor of an imagined Octopus’ Garden (Thank you Beatles) and the all-too-common octopus of electrical cords emanating from a single outlet familiar to those of us living in older homes not up to modern electrical codes. The ending of the poem alludes to the arising danger from such powerful creative energies surpassing the existing channels at certain moments. Status quo, look out!
Song of The Octopus
In a whirled
Run by cacophonies
And hush money handlers
I yearn to sing
And feel the power
Only to find myself
Being held up
Having so many chords
Yet so few outlets
Fore an octopus’ guardin’
And a body electric
A fire hazard employed
Even under a see
Of salty tears
Unfathomably deep
A hearth
Impossible to put out
Just
Wading
For the epitome of what is
Current
Awe be it
Caught short
When the undo spark
Shows up
