Hey everyone... sorry for the absence... I'm back.
I've been busy as shit, but I have some free time.
I'll have a whole lot here pretty soon, can't wait...
anyways, new poem.
It's dedicated to anyone who wondered if I could rhyme :)
Please, Muse
Young man,
with eyes jutting like spires,
webbing like spiders,
your heart's two beats from alive.
Proud jungle,
kill in the name of your lost,
cut like you're not longer soft,
and send the hunters from the hive.
Yellow sky,
pour fire over your followers,
twisting the swords of the swallowers,
and giving the wheat the scythe.
My thoughts,
send fury through the crashes,
heave mountains through their passes.
May my tongue survive.
Dear kingly muse,
disregard this internal wretchedness,
and pour your milk of Paradise,
once again, over my dull,
weak,
uninspired,
writhing,
body.
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2 comments:
i love your ability to pull out the craziest images-- they seem almost random, yet you make them work. i love the "milk of Paradise" line.
and if anyone's ever called you out on "not rhyming"--screw em. i reserve rhyming for special poems, and i always know if it's gonna be a "special" one before i even write it, that way i never force rhymes on a poem that was meant to be unrhymed. to date i've written..2?
Please, Muse
Young man,
with eyes jutting like spires,
webbing like spiders,
your heart's two beats from alive.
[i would suggest 'heart is' -- no confusion with possessive. reader can still slur it.]
Proud jungle,
kill in the name of your lost,
cut like you're not longer soft,
and send the hunters from the hive.
['cut like you're not now soft' ?? not sure i'm getting this stanza. love image of jungle that kills maybe getting soft---because of human intrusion? but not sure 'hive' works. mixed metaphor.]
Yellow sky,
pour fire over your followers,
twisting the swords of the swallowers,
and giving the wheat the scythe.
[adore adore adore this stanza!]
My thoughts,
send fury through the crashes,
heave mountains through their passes.
May my tongue survive.
Dear kingly muse,
disregard this internal wretchedness,
and pour your milk of Paradise,
once again, over my dull,
weak,
uninspired,
writhing,
body.
[who is the muse? the examples in the stanzas above? also, aren't muses usually female? might work better to make it 'queenly'--especially as u then use 'pour your milk.' *smile* who is it saying 'you'? i'm a little confused by pronouns and who is the speaker, speaking to whom.
i like the rhyming, but trying to work out the scheme. i think there is one, but it isn't strict. will come back to u on that one.]
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