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meta for no reason - morgan driscoll

Writer's picture: theperiwinklepelictheperiwinklepelic


A cloud, a tree, a blossomed cherry sprig,

a child’s gravestone by a crumbling farm,

which overgrown with grasses and with thick

new sapling oak; its final harvest: barn


wood for some bonused banker’s family room,

—are valued more for twistings of their sense,

or dressing up in some deceptive costume

for a Poets’ Masquerade —their tense


and predicates ignored licentiously,

plain meaning of the words a scornful mess,

their reader’s ear a funhouse mirror free

to bend their uses into uselessness—


raise questions: can the heart be ever spoken?,

and will our words do ever more than hum 

emotion?




Morgan Driscoll lives in Connecticut and writes poetry to supplement his income as a commercial artist. He has been published in 30+ journals and anthologies and has made over $100. You can find his work in Humanist Magazine, The Penwood Review, The Orchards Poetry Journal, Constellate Magazine, Caesura, Northwest Indiana Literary Journal, The Avenue, Meetinghouse, Newtown Literary, and many others.

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