Wednesday, April 28, 2010

On the Bathroom Wall

Art really knows no boundaries. I came across this poem today, scribbled in marker on the side of a bathroom stall on campus:

Haven't they heard of beauty
And don't they know the stars drip electric water
And I let it run through my fingers
Like a freak nightmare into the
Cobweb of a beaded dreamcatcher
But they are too busy
With their French maids
And typhoid romances and their
Bubblegum and amusement parks
And their TV and their cubicles
And their treadmills and their banks and
Their pop bands
To see
That a grain of sand
Knows more than our critics
And it needed no hands
No thoughts and no machines
To be

It made me smile all the way to class, and I found myself reading it over again during instruction, marveling at the lines. I wonder who wrote it, and why he put it there?

8 comments:

Tom Last said...

I like this too, especially the part about the maids and romances and cubicles and banks; it feels like I'm falling, until it says "To see", where the whole poem catches up and you feel something like an epiphany, sort of. I'll definitely be reading this all day tomorrow! Thanks for sharing. :)

naturgesetz said...

That's wonderful, amazing, fascinating.

Whoever wrote that has real insight.

You should go back, and if it's still there, write an encouraging comment.

otherworldlyone said...

It definitely caught my interest.

Anonymously Me said...

I love reading the stuff on bathroom walls.

Sue (Someone's Mom) said...

I've never seen anything that cool on a bathroom wall...you got lucky!

Cheryl said...

That is nice! Sounds like a drug or alcohol induced stream of consciousness. But really nice all the same. I love how it flows. I bet you'd find the author at a nearby open mic.

secret agent woman said...

It's refreshing when someone is actually creative with what they write on a bathroom wall.

Aunt Snow said...

isn't it amazing to find something like this, totally anonymous and yet so incredible?

Wouldn't you like to know who that person was who wrote it?

I found a very poignant anonymous poem on a wall some 30 years ago - now I have to go find my journal and remember it.