Edited
My God, do you hear
my heart thumping in lags
and stutters
like the melody of a drunkard’s
midnight ballad, riveting and broken
bolting into the bosom of night
plucking petals and waiting for dawn’s
sobering hues to revive me once again?
or Lord, the way I move my hips
to the wind of his moans
and shed my cocooning clothes at the
mouth of his apartment door
Undoing and fluttering about—
a butterfly stitched
in all of his
lusty townsman sins
Well, do You see how
I transform into drums and trumpets
my hellish stride,
a glassy brushstroke against your holy skies,
my hands a basket of all these lies
they fed me in your muddied name
and I lost my mind dancing
through the storm of blades
that tore my faith asunder
once I found that I was yet again
a pawn in a religious game
God, can you hear me?
I am pain and painting
Embodied: I am art
in her rotting flesh
I am sad and depressed
I am pastel and way past
my patience,
I am wearing weariness
on my neck,
his grip has tightened
I have had enough,
of these yellow trials and tribulations
I am your mad masterpiece!
I am art!
How come you feel nothing?
~ I don't know if any kind of explanation is necessary but I think it might be for this particular poem. I wrote this a few days ago. I was feeling feverish, angry and severely upset... By the time I wrote the final stanzas, I had been crying. I was enraged. As I reflect on it, it feels very stream of consciousness, even delirious in a way. What do you guys think? I would love any and all suggestions, criticisms, ideas I could get. I don't think it's great or anything but I specifically chose to share it because it poured out of me in a cathartic blur almost.
Anyway, I am rambling as I very often tend to. Thank you all in advance!
Hi, feb, welcome, glad to have you on the site. You have some interesting images, plenty to work with, but I found the combination of capitalizing each line and the erratic punctuation made it hard for me to follow. Do you think either adds to your poem? If not you may want to work on that to make the poem easier to read.
And no, no explanation needed, your poem says it.
(02-08-2015, 06:44 AM)februarious Wrote: [ -> ]My God, do you hear
My heart thumping in lags
And stutters?
Like the melody of a drunkard’s
Midnight ballad, riveting and broken
Bolting into the bosom of night
Plucking petals and waiting for dawn’s
Sobering hues to revive me once again
Or Lord, the way I move my hips
To the wind of his moans
And shed my cocooning clothes at the
Mouth of his apartment door
Undoing and fluttering about—
A butterfly stitched
In all of his
Lusty townsman sins,
Well, do You see how
I transform into drums and trumpets
My hellish stride,
A glassy brushstroke against your holy skies
My hands a basket of all these lies
They fed me in your muddied name,
And I lost my mind dancing
Through the storm of blades
That tore my faith asunder
Once I found that I was yet again
A pawn in a religious game
God, can you hear me?
I am pain and painting
Embodied: I am art
In her rotting flesh
I am sad and depressed
I am pastel and way past
My patience,
I am wearing weariness
On my neck,
His grip has tightened
I have had enough,
Of these yellow trials and tribulations
I am your mad masterpiece!
I am art!
How come you feel nothing?
~ I don't know if any kind of explanation is necessary but I think it might be for this particular poem. I wrote this a few days ago. I was feeling feverish, angry and severely upset... By the time I wrote the final stanzas, I had been crying. I was enraged. As I reflect on it, it feels very stream of consciousness, even delirious in a way. What do you guys think? I would love any and all suggestions, criticisms, ideas I could get. I don't think it's great or anything but I specifically chose to share it because it poured out of me in a cathartic blur almost.
Anyway, I am rambling as I very often tend to. Thank you all in advance!
(02-08-2015, 06:44 AM)februarious Wrote: [ -> ]My God, do you hear
My heart thumping in lags
And stutters?
Like the melody of a drunkard’s
Midnight ballad, riveting and broken
Bolting into the bosom of night
Plucking petals and waiting for dawn’s
Sobering hues to revive me once again
Or Lord, the way I move my hips
To the wind of his moans
And shed my cocooning clothes at the
Mouth of his apartment door
Undoing and fluttering about—
A butterfly stitched
In all of his
Lusty townsman sins,
Well, do You see how
I transform into drums and trumpets
My hellish stride,
A glassy brushstroke against your holy skies
My hands a basket of all these lies
They fed me in your muddied name,
And I lost my mind dancing
Through the storm of blades
That tore my faith asunder
Once I found that I was yet again
A pawn in a religious game
God, can you hear me?
I am pain and painting
Embodied: I am art
In her rotting flesh
I am sad and depressed
I am pastel and way past
My patience,
I am wearing weariness
On my neck,
His grip has tightened
I have had enough,
Of these yellow trials and tribulations
I am your mad masterpiece!
I am art!
How come you feel nothing?
~ I don't know if any kind of explanation is necessary but I think it might be for this particular poem. I wrote this a few days ago. I was feeling feverish, angry and severely upset... By the time I wrote the final stanzas, I had been crying. I was enraged. As I reflect on it, it feels very stream of consciousness, even delirious in a way. What do you guys think? I would love any and all suggestions, criticisms, ideas I could get. I don't think it's great or anything but I specifically chose to share it because it poured out of me in a cathartic blur almost.
Anyway, I am rambling as I very often tend to. Thank you all in advance!
Hi Februarious,
Yes, it's a stream of consciousness, and fits very well with the title. While reading it, "trouble deaf heaven" came to mind, (Shakespeare sonnet 29)...how faith (or faithlessness) is a very human thing to have. Religion, as your poem points out can be a "storm of blades". This type of poem (which, as you say, poured out of you "in a cathartic blur") was therapeutic for you to write. You also write well. As it's so personal, it puts you in a position of being quite vulnerable, so , as a reader I feel I want to protect the poem rather than critique it! Help! But maybe what I've said is an honest response to it..just some thoughts. Thanks for sharing this poem. Grace
(02-08-2015, 06:55 AM)ellajam Wrote: [ -> ]Hi, feb, welcome, glad to have you on the site. You have some interesting images, plenty to work with, but I found the combination of capitalizing each line and the erratic punctuation made it hard for me to follow. Do you think either adds to your poem? If not you may want to work on that to make the poem easier to read.
And no, no explanation needed, your poem says it.
(02-08-2015, 06:44 AM)februarious Wrote: [ -> ]My God, do you hear
My heart thumping in lags
And stutters?
Like the melody of a drunkard’s
Midnight ballad, riveting and broken
Bolting into the bosom of night
Plucking petals and waiting for dawn’s
Sobering hues to revive me once again
Or Lord, the way I move my hips
To the wind of his moans
And shed my cocooning clothes at the
Mouth of his apartment door
Undoing and fluttering about—
A butterfly stitched
In all of his
Lusty townsman sins,
Well, do You see how
I transform into drums and trumpets
My hellish stride,
A glassy brushstroke against your holy skies
My hands a basket of all these lies
They fed me in your muddied name,
And I lost my mind dancing
Through the storm of blades
That tore my faith asunder
Once I found that I was yet again
A pawn in a religious game
God, can you hear me?
I am pain and painting
Embodied: I am art
In her rotting flesh
I am sad and depressed
I am pastel and way past
My patience,
I am wearing weariness
On my neck,
His grip has tightened
I have had enough,
Of these yellow trials and tribulations
I am your mad masterpiece!
I am art!
How come you feel nothing?
~ I don't know if any kind of explanation is necessary but I think it might be for this particular poem. I wrote this a few days ago. I was feeling feverish, angry and severely upset... By the time I wrote the final stanzas, I had been crying. I was enraged. As I reflect on it, it feels very stream of consciousness, even delirious in a way. What do you guys think? I would love any and all suggestions, criticisms, ideas I could get. I don't think it's great or anything but I specifically chose to share it because it poured out of me in a cathartic blur almost.
Anyway, I am rambling as I very often tend to. Thank you all in advance!
There are many that would deride any poem that goes inward and possibly curse the Romantics who seemed to represent this "historical" turn in poetry. In my opinion, it is not so simple. With this poem, I would avoid lines like "lusty townsman sins."
(02-08-2015, 06:44 AM)februarious Wrote: [ -> ]My God, do you hear
My heart thumping in lags
And stutters?
Like the melody of a drunkard’s
Midnight ballad, riveting and broken
Bolting into the bosom of night
Plucking petals and waiting for dawn’s
Sobering hues to revive me once again
Or Lord, the way I move my hips
To the wind of his moans
And shed my cocooning clothes at the
Mouth of his apartment door
Undoing and fluttering about—
A butterfly stitched
In all of his
Lusty townsman sins,
Well, do You see how
I transform into drums and trumpets
My hellish stride,
A glassy brushstroke against your holy skies
My hands a basket of all these lies
They fed me in your muddied name,
And I lost my mind dancing
Through the storm of blades
That tore my faith asunder
Once I found that I was yet again
A pawn in a religious game
God, can you hear me?
I am pain and painting
Embodied: I am art
In her rotting flesh
I am sad and depressed
I am pastel and way past
My patience,
I am wearing weariness
On my neck,
His grip has tightened
I have had enough,
Of these yellow trials and tribulations
I am your mad masterpiece!
I am art!
How come you feel nothing?
~ I don't know if any kind of explanation is necessary but I think it might be for this particular poem. I wrote this a few days ago. I was feeling feverish, angry and severely upset... By the time I wrote the final stanzas, I had been crying. I was enraged. As I reflect on it, it feels very stream of consciousness, even delirious in a way. What do you guys think? I would love any and all suggestions, criticisms, ideas I could get. I don't think it's great or anything but I specifically chose to share it because it poured out of me in a cathartic blur almost.
Anyway, I am rambling as I very often tend to. Thank you all in advance!
Like your word combinations: (e.g. pain / painting; past / pastel; wear / weariness). Like the alliteration (e.g. ballad, broken, bolting, bosom...and other assorted "b" words). I, too, wish you to follow conventional capitalization...would help as we tumble down your myriad of images. I almost hear a Hester-like (Scarlett Letter) calling for recognition from this asshole. The urge to "share" is telling you there is some good stuff here. There is.
Welcome.
Hello everyone! I really appreciate all the feedback I've gotten so far (and the kind welcome).
@ellajam
For some odd reason I've grown accustomed to capitalizing the first word on each line. I'm not sure there's a stylistic explanation as to why I tend to do this but I just do. However, I will take your advice and fix the whole capitalization thing.
@Grace
Interesting parallel you made, I'll give it a read. It's oddly exciting that you pick up on the stream of consciousness feel of it, though despite it being therapeutic to write I still would appreciate any criticism you have. I find it very sweet that you feel rather inclined to protect the poem but really, you have the thumbs up to say whatever you'd like.
@Brownlie
For the sake of both knowledge and curiosity, why would you avoid "lusty townsman sins"?
@71degrees
Thank you for the encouragement and positive remarks! I'm a very big fan of alliteration and I often find myself utilizing it subconsciously. I will edit the poem out and sort the capitalization issue. I will be posting more as I grow accustomed to sharing my poetry publically, as this the first time I've officially done so.