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Gardener of Ruins

The garden is seated upon a hill.
It has a gardener in a groove of ruins
Astride hooded cloud of wild unreality,
Galloping on a wave bustling with tales decades ago abandoned.

In these four rambling years,
He scoops up imaginations off the tattered plains of paranoia,
And trades in grating insanity as if in gold and silver.
He is fettered to superstition like a lizard to a tree.

His languid ego his chains and shackles.
Dead from the neck up, he is empty and irascible,
Refuged in his membrane a ragtag crowd of narcissistic thoughts.
He seethes with rage and hate when the air hums

The melodies of birds of free wings,
But lullabies he sings to scorpions he raises
That sting with poison fermented in the bed of his tongue.
He said to rotten food: "You are my bait"

With which to lure and feed my hunts,
And nurse their bitter teeth to cut like a blade.
Then, among the butterflies, send them to bite and tear
In the dead of the veiled night fated to doom.

The vintage tree, in royal rind, is his to climb,
but so afraid he dances about its trunk,
wherefrom he ruffles the waters of crystal spirit; and
at garden's eyes, he looks daggers with eyes erect as bull horns.

Oh, how alarming his perilous spine, how maddening his gutless gut
That he spits fire inside the rivers that quench the garden's thirst.
And under the garden's beds he plants combustible nails,
And sweeps into whirlwind fluffy air that gives the garden a cheer.

Now the sun's gentle flame has grown watery drips,
The face of the stars fallen out of favor with brilliance,
The moon oaring away into a far dejected cloud,
For the countenance of the garden is many faces of dry leaves.

Even so, at dawn comes a resurrection, a liberation bell,
Even keepers and watchers with faces furrowed of dissatisfaction,
Decrying the desecration of the sacred oaths of the garden,
then in the voice of trumpets they shout: the gardener must go.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

Hope you're doing well. As for the piece, it is awash with allegories and metaphors. I painted the picture of America under the government of Donald Trump in a rather symbolic way to challenge readers' sense of association but more so to put their imagination to a good task. The "Gardener of Ruins" is an allegory for a president who has caused so much damages to country and pains to the people in the last four years. The "Garden " on a Hill" is the United States as described by Ronald Reagan as a "City on a Hill." So, all that has transpired since his presidency, including the people who have played different roles, is metaphorically and allegorically represented to give the poem a strong tone of imagery and poetic rhythm. I hope I communicated enough to help you unmask the poem and discover its purpose.

Bathe yourself with poetry and let the world go to pieces.

author comment

You're welcome ma'am. Have a wonderful day.

Bathe yourself with poetry and let the world go to pieces.

author comment

I disagree with your message but won't let that make us enemies. Now on to the poem itself. In my opinion when a poem has such long lines it can easily be skipped if the poem is also fairly long. Perhaps a bit of pruning is in store. LOL This coming from a guy who often writes long poems.

Not trying to sound politically uncivilized, I know how you feel when that political button is pushed but I would rather not. Thanks for your good critique.

Bathe yourself with poetry and let the world go to pieces.

author comment

we could not be more diametrically opposed politically, but we are still friends. [We are, aren't we?] LoL
Stan is right, maybe you could trim it down a little? Actually, I really thought that it was about your home country. ~ Geez.
.

Comments and critique are vital to this site!
Even if you just say: I liked this story or your spelling
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Thanks for your constructive critique. But I must let you know that my home country is United States contrary to the impression you have of me. Thanks.

Bathe yourself with poetry and let the world go to pieces.

author comment

My memory must have been mistaken. Perhaps I thought of someone else. ~ Geez.
.

Comments and critique are vital to this site!
Even if you just say: I liked this story or your spelling
of a word is wrong, take the time to write a line or two
and comment. Your fellow poets will thank you!
.

first of all . . . great write. However, it would seem to be a wasted effort; how do we know, at this moment, that the new chief won't be even more incompetent than the previous one? I lament the absence of leadership overall. A thoughtful, thought-provoking write. It snapped me out of my winter torpor. Thank you, Van

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