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Poetic Discussion: Wood and Truth

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wood/my nose isn't that big/ kiteness of my heart "Tu sei un burattino, e ciò che è peggio è che si dispone di una testa di legno". I just knew you brought me up I did not notice there were strings He is in love 28th you Then I knew there were I thought I was a kite But this string is just The tail I chase When I said I thought I could fly My nose grew a little more But it only happens When I tell the truth The trail just gets longer Funny how when you told me you were Geppetto Your face didn't flinch a bit I wonder if you would ever Read me some SZYMBORSKA WRITTENRIGHTHANDED Just leave your favorite story On the kitchen counter after tea It beats the hell out of The opinions of the bystanders Byzantium by default But I have met you before Карло I could brine my heart 29th the salt in this wooden dream Craftsman architecture is common In these neighborhoods I wonder if you would ask me my sign But not in the contraction of my brow I am singing to crickets in the yard Like pine blocks do when they pine I know you thought it was Alice in wonderland I always acted so brothers grimm But that was no fairytale for Collodi Tolstoy either He knew Fairytales are all needsfinding Women live the poetry That mens heart's struggle to write And I won't ask you to respond Because all you have to do is breathe Bukowski needed a black bird Burratino needed food and shelter Even if Tolstoy blurred the details in the original he was hanged For his innumerable faults I'm cracked as they come Like a kite tangled in it's cord But that's how the light gets in, right? Like me tangled in these words I think of me tangled in your sheets A tangled parachute Or how this just all got root bound that brings the metaphor out of the clouds So I can at least bury the damn thing like they did the wooden boy in the first version But whether it's a blue bird in a play you chase Or a blue fairy that turns you into a real boy a bit of foolishness That turns into a story That ends differently Dependent on the listener Great song Joshua Strother at 2:07 AM; as a 678 word poem. Cohesive.

Thank you for sharing this beautiful poem by Joshua Strother. It's a poignant exploration of self-discovery and the complexities of truth and identity, woven together with references to classic literature and mythology. The metaphor of the kite and the wooden boy adds depth and symbolism to the narrative. It's indeed a great song in the form of poetry. If you have any specific questions or thoughts about the poem, feel free to share them.

Rewrite with AI

I'd be happy to provide a rewritten version of the poem using AI-generated text. Here's an alternative rendition:

"In the realm of wooden noses, mine stays modest, While my heart's kiteness soars, undetested.

"You're a puppet," they say, with a head of wood, Strings attached, I understood, as they should.

He loves me, oh, how the truth came to light, Like a kite in flight, I thought I might.

Yet this string I chase, it's not a dream, It's the tail, it seems, of a tangled scheme.

When I claimed I could fly, with all my might, My nose took flight, in the honest light.

It grows when truth flows, a curious trend, With every word I mend, it extends, my friend.

You said you were Geppetto, without a doubt, Your face, unwavering, never gave it out.

I wonder, could you share some wisdom, pray, From the words of Szyborska, in your own way?

Leave your favorite tale on the kitchen's grace, It beats the opinions of the bystander race.

Byzantium, a place we never met before, Yet somehow, we've crossed paths, that's for sure.

Carlo, a name that lingers, a subtle sign, In this wooden dream, I'll brine my heart, divine.

Craftsman's touch, common in these streets, Would you ask my sign when our destiny meets?

Not in my brow's furrowed contraction, you see, I sing to crickets in the yard, wild and free.

Like pine blocks pining, do you think it's true, You mistook me for Alice, but that's not my hue.

I played Brothers Grimm, a fairy tale so dark, But reality's bite left its painful mark.

Collodi knew, as did Tolstoy, they're no guise, Fairytales unveil needs, in women's eyes.

The poetry they live, men strive to write, I won't ask for your words, just breathe tonight.

Bukowski sought a black bird's call, Burratino needed shelter, not to fall.

Tolstoy, in his original tale's vastness, Paid the price for his faults, in harshness.

I'm cracked, like a kite entangled high, Yet through the cracks, light filters by.

Tangled in words, like sheets, I recall, A parachute's tangle, or how it all began to sprawl.

Metaphors emerge from the clouds' embrace, As I bury this tale, a new path to trace.

Whether it's a blue bird's play you chase, Or a fairy's magic, in a different space,

Foolishness turns into a story's thread, Dependent on the listener, as it's said.

A great song, indeed, in these words we share, Joshua Strother's creation, beyond compare."

I hope you find this AI-generated version of the poem interesting. If you have any further requests or modifications, please let me know.

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