Poetry Forum

This poem is in the aptly named metrical angst genre. Idk, have at it if you will.

There I stood,
basking in the shadow of Molossus.
The promise of my greatness trickled like
the cadence of a brook that passed through stones.
I kenned the slither of the snakes and found them wanting,
And for now I knew no fear.
 
I'd found a cool rift of asylum hidden in the Earth,
and there I quaffed from silhouettes and gloom
until I’d found the very essence of a beat beyond a break.
I swelled, almost content, when in my interplay with shade
I nearly made the spirits burn.

Certain that I’d found a recipe for whoops and war cries,
I promptly told the apparitions it was me,
Me! Me! Me!
The sole exalted priest of verse who found molossus.
But yet, it was all travesty and shame,
a pigeon pecking crumbs inside a paper bag,
announced my failure in a pin prick of a shrill
and deflated all my dropsy.
The Me's were nothing like a democratic
umph of three but were, instead, a tawdry sound
which fell in an abrupt crescendo of three greedy notes.
The glister of the shade was gone,
And I babbled like a barking dog
cursing unseen imprecations.

Hi, Brownlie, this is my first acquaintance with molossus and I have to ask, why, why, why?
Okay, so I see "There I stood" and "me, me, me". If there are more in there please give me a clue, like how many, and I'll go on a treasure hunt. I did enjoy the read but am unable to give critique until I can figure out what you're aiming at. Throw a novice a bone.

(02-09-2015, 02:29 PM)Brownlie Wrote: [ -> ]This poem is in the aptly named metrical angst genre. Idk, have at it if you will.

There I stood,
basking in the shadow of Molossus.
The promise of my greatness trickled like
the cadence of a brook that passed through stones.
I kenned the slither of the snakes and found them wanting,
And for now I knew no fear.
 
I'd found a cool rift of asylum hidden in the Earth,
and there I quaffed from silhouettes and gloom
until I’d found the very essence of a beat beyond a break.
I swelled, almost content, when in my interplay with shade
I nearly made the spirits burn.

Certain that I’d found a recipe for whoops and war cries,
I promptly told the apparitions it was me,
Me! Me! Me!
The sole exalted priest of verse who found molossus.
But yet, it was all travesty and shame,
a pigeon pecking crumbs inside a paper bag,
announced my failure in a pin prick of a shrill
and deflated all my dropsy.
The Me's were nothing like a democratic
umph of three but were, instead, a tawdry sound
which fell in an abrupt crescendo of three greedy notes.
The glister of the shade was gone,
And I babbled like a barking dog
cursing unseen imprecations.

(02-09-2015, 11:44 PM)ellajam Wrote: [ -> ]Hi, Brownlie, this is my first acquaintance with molossus and I have to ask, why, why, why?
Okay, so I see "There I stood" and "me, me, me". If there are more in there please give me a clue, like how many, and I'll go on a treasure hunt. I did enjoy the read but am unable to give critique until I can figure out what you're aiming at. Throw a novice a bone.

(02-09-2015, 02:29 PM)Brownlie Wrote: [ -> ]This poem is in the aptly named metrical angst genre. Idk, have at it if you will.

There I stood,
basking in the shadow of Molossus.
The promise of my greatness trickled like
the cadence of a brook that passed through stones.
I kenned the slither of the snakes and found them wanting,
And for now I knew no fear.
 
I'd found a cool rift of asylum hidden in the Earth,
and there I quaffed from silhouettes and gloom
until I’d found the very essence of a beat beyond a break.
I swelled, almost content, when in my interplay with shade
I nearly made the spirits burn.

Certain that I’d found a recipe for whoops and war cries,
I promptly told the apparitions it was me,
Me! Me! Me!
The sole exalted priest of verse who found molossus.
But yet, it was all travesty and shame,
a pigeon pecking crumbs inside a paper bag,
announced my failure in a pin prick of a shrill
and deflated all my dropsy.
The Me's were nothing like a democratic
umph of three but were, instead, a tawdry sound
which fell in an abrupt crescendo of three greedy notes.
The glister of the shade was gone,
And I babbled like a barking dog
cursing unseen imprecations.

I like your take with the treasure hunting, that's a cool way to read a poem. I'm not sure, I would like to say umph of three is one, but I don't think it is. Thanks for reading.