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Musing on the Death of Poetry
`
when the clack of keyboards cease
and pages of unbound books
scattered by the indolent breeze
produce a melancholy dirge
think of all the unwritten words
that remain stillborn in the mind
much like the gilded pheasant
out of the snare and into the fire
`
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Comments
Nordic cloud
Sat, 2011-01-22 11:59
Little moment of floating
Little moment of floating pages
silently sideways travelling
to and fro in the mind,
their feathered edges frayed,
their visions lost,
I liked this one you cryptic bard!
Its sway of memory,
it swing of movement
coming to rest.
Ann with love.
"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.
crypticbard
Sun, 2011-01-23 03:20
Thanks Ann
Please accept my heartfelt appreciation for your kind words and open-faced response. CB
__________________________________________________
'write on! let these words free.'
author commentweirdelf
Sat, 2011-01-22 22:20
The first six lines are perfect
In form, content and imagery.
But the gold plated pheasant has been caught and cooked (and presumably the gold collected from the ashes and cashed in). How is that stillborn? Are you yanking our chains?
Just joking, what I'm trying to say is that fire is a very violent metaphor for the quiet grief of stillborn.
cheers,
Jess
A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'
https://www.neopoet.com/workshop/rhythm-and-meter-poetry
crypticbard
Sun, 2011-01-23 03:48
Lol, Jess
One man's treasure is another's demise. hahaha... I guess it depends on the point of view. Point taken! And yes, the violence was intended. That is why the jarring of the last two lines. As another response to the poem reads: Life will go on. Thanks for your words of comment. You are much appreciated. Cheers, CB
__________________________________________________
'write on! let these words free.'
author commentOrphani
Sat, 2011-01-22 23:12
This piece is young, and
This piece is young, and wants more time in the bottle. Its promise is evident. Your ability to capture the emotional undertones of mortalities end, and the regret of the unwritten poem in the metaphors-stillborn, trapped, and thrown into the fire- aside from the final metaphor being a little awkward in its presentation-being an unborn dead thing and then a gilded peacock trapped and destroyed- One cannot help but to notice your underlying skill and sensitivity of subject. The first stanza is very well done and conveys this moody piece on its way with a funeral precision. Good poem with caveat.
B
crypticbard
Sun, 2011-01-23 03:53
Thanks B
I appreciate your comprehensive review. Cheers, CB
__________________________________________________
'write on! let these words free.'
author commentKailashana2
Sun, 2011-01-23 01:04
I was wallowing in this poem,
I was wallowing in this poem, rooting for rare truffles. I found a find.
~A
crypticbard
Sun, 2011-01-23 03:44
Aww Kaila
you are too kind. Glad there was something to find. I was beginning to feel otherwise. Thanks for dropping by and sharing your experience with this poem. CB
__________________________________________________
'write on! let these words free.'
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