The Seer of Carthage
#1
The city in full festive spirit bustles
Its foreign tongues express exotic speech
and men are clothed in strange outlandish dress
where goods and money change tight clutching hands

Yet I am lying down with face looking up
I hear a whisper, faintly in my head
declaring: Carthage will fall from its height
to crushed waste where vultures eat the dead

No more will people walk the city streets
the Marketplace devoid of all its stock
no chatter heard or clunking wooden carts
no children play or go around about

An eerie sound of silence will reside
with only whispers heard of men deceased.
I scream and bellow curses to the gods
for bringing wrath upon this city now

My lungs inside me burn, my head is numb
from top to toe, I shake ceaselessly
my fragile frame now crippled by a dread
that some inferno will consume my soul

I long that gods would come and smite me down
by slicing wide this punic heart of mine
that I may stoop and sleep with fallen men
before eyes are casted upon this city’s fall

My noisy cries and shouts go heavenward
then twenty eyes now peel before my shape
their faces morph into the gods of Baal
ready to bring their judgement over me

I’m lying down in mud condemned by them
yet as the sun’s rays gleam down from above
I long redemption’s wings would lift me up
And Carthage would be spared its ruined fate

Yet Death is now beside me where he waits
with his sickle now hanging over me
foretasting poisoned fruit from hand decayed
I am ensnared in his demonic trance

I ask for one to end my suffering
to smother me now with a pillow case
or squeeze my throat with hands together clenched
but no one there responds to my request

Then by the powerful hands of the gods
I break out of my hellish trance and sing
for death my source of fear has drifted away
like shadows of a passing cloud above

I now turn heavenward and thank the gods
for sparing me and the great capital
which although may decline in glory yet
I pray it shall see better days ahead
Poetry is the unexpected utterance of the soul 

Mark Nepo
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#2
Hi Mark,

Let me give you a few comments. Overall I like the poem. There's a lot here that doesn't feel forced and reads well. I had a few areas of concern that I'll point out below, but nicely done.

If you're going for blank verse which it appears you are L1 feels a bit metrically a bit long.

(03-02-2017, 04:42 AM)Mark Cecil Wrote:  The city in full festive spirit bustles
Its foreign tongues express exotic speech
and men are clothed in strange outlandish dress
where goods and money change tight clutching hands

Yet I am lying down with face looking up--This is a nice line to give the sense of the seer in a trance.
I hear a whisper, faintly in my head
declaring: Carthage will fall from its height
to crushed waste where vultures eat the dead

No more will people walk the city streets
the Marketplace devoid of all its stock
no chatter heard or clunking wooden carts --I like clunking wooden carts. Very visual and employs sound well.
no children play or go around about

An eerie sound of silence will reside--Hard for me to get out of a Paul Simon mindset with sound of silence.
with only whispers heard of men deceased.
I scream and bellow curses to the gods
for bringing wrath upon this city now

My lungs inside me burn, my head is numb
from top to toe, I shake ceaselessly
my fragile frame now crippled by a dread
that some inferno will consume my soul

I long that gods would come and smite me down
by slicing wide this punic heart of mine
that I may stoop and sleep with fallen men
before eyes are casted upon this city’s fall--I don't like casted here. It isn't modern usage and anything other than cast will stop the reader and remind them that their reading a poem.

My noisy cries and shouts go heavenward
then twenty eyes now peel before my shape
their faces morph into the gods of Baal--gods of Baal. I thought Baal was a singular sun/prosperity god. I don't read Baal and think parthenon--am I incorrect? 
ready to bring their judgement over me

I’m lying down in mud condemned by them
yet as the sun’s rays gleam down from above
I long redemption’s wings would lift me up--while I don't have a big problem with this is Baal worship and the like actually something that would have redemption as a common thought? It works because the concept clearly existed but it may still be out of place with that specific periosd.
And Carthage would be spared its ruined fate

Yet Death is now beside me where he waits
with his sickle now hanging over me--Carthage was a contemporary and enemy of Rome. The idea of death with a sickle or scythe didn't come until the middle ages. This works for modern readers but breaks with your period.
foretasting poisoned fruit from hand decayed
I am ensnared in his demonic trance

I ask for one to end my suffering
to smother me now with a pillow case--pillow case seems too modern.
or squeeze my throat with hands together clenched
but no one there responds to my request

Then by the powerful hands of the gods
I break out of my hellish trance and sing
for death my source of fear has drifted away
like shadows of a passing cloud above

I now turn heavenward and thank the gods
for sparing me and the great capital
which although may decline in glory yet
I pray it shall see better days ahead
I enjoyed a lot of this poem and I think it has good bones. I hope the comments will be helpful to you--whatever you choose to do with them.

Best,

Todd
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
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#3
Hello! I wish that I knew more about Carthage so I could garner a deeper appreciation for this poem, but unfortunately I have very little knowledge about that topic. Nevertheless, it's a beautiful poem! My overarching note is that I don't quite understand the meter in this poem. Most lines are iambic pentameter or a close approximation of it, but then some lines are only one or two feet too long/short and some feet deviate from the iambs. I found that this made some lines difficult to read. 

(03-02-2017, 04:42 AM)Mark Cecil Wrote:  The city in full festive spirit bustles
Its foreign tongues express exotic speech
and men are clothed in strange outlandish dress
where goods and money change tight clutching hands I like how this opening stanza establishes a festive setting that contrasts so glaringly with what is to come. However, I think that the poem could use a little bit more of this exposition, maybe even an entire stanza more for this. What do the festivities smell, taste, and feel like? (Sight and sound are included above, but in order to create a whole sensual understanding, I think these might be necessary.)

Yet I am lying down with face looking up As the rest of this stanza is in iambic pentameter, maybe consider "turned" instead of "looking"? Otherwise consider varying the meter more so that it doesn't feel like iambic pentameter with a few exceptions and rather like a poem with a mix of meters. 
I hear a whisper, faintly in my head
declaring: Carthage will fall from its height
to crushed waste where vultures eat the dead "Eat" seems like a somewhat weak word here. If you're trying to vary the meter "consume", "desecrate". Otherwise "take" or "where vultures mourn no dead" might be a more interesting, less literal way of phrasing this

No more will people walk the city streets
the Marketplace devoid of all its stock
no chatter heard or clunking wooden carts
no children play or go around about

An eerie sound of silence will reside
with only whispers heard of men deceased.
I scream and bellow curses to the gods
for bringing wrath upon this city now

My lungs inside me burn, my head is numb
from top to toe, I shake ceaselessly
my fragile frame now crippled by a dread
that some inferno will consume my soul

I long that gods would come and smite me down "the gods" instead of "that gods"? Also, I think "I long for gods to come..." might be appropriate because "would" introduces a new and unnecessary verb tense to the poem. This makes this line feel like it almost doesn't belong. 
by slicing wide this punic heart of mine
that I may stoop and sleep with fallen men
before eyes are casted upon this city’s fall

My noisy cries and shouts go heavenward
then twenty eyes now peel before my shape
their faces morph into the gods of Baal
ready to bring their judgement over me "ready" doesn't really seem to match the diction in this stanza. Consider a more violent, grotesque way of phrasing this, e.g. "in lust to bring..." or "lusting to bring..."

I’m lying down in mud condemned by them
yet as the sun’s rays gleam down from above
I long redemption’s wings would lift me up
And Carthage would be spared its ruined fate some more occurrences of "would" that you may want to consider changing

Yet Death is now beside me where he waits perhaps capitalize "He" to keep stay consistent
with his sickle now hanging over me and possibly capitalize "Sickle" as well 
foretasting poisoned fruit from hand decayed
I am ensnared in his demonic trance as well as this "His"

I ask for one to end my suffering
to smother me now with a pillow case Although I think this is an intentional break from the ancient imagery and tone, the "pillow case" threw me off on the first read-through. You may wish to consider revising. (However, the more I reread this poem the more I like this line, so perhaps not!)
or squeeze my throat with hands together clenched
but no one there responds to my request

Then by the powerful hands of the gods
I break out of my hellish trance and sing
for death my source of fear has drifted away
like shadows of a passing cloud above

I now turn heavenward and thank the gods
for sparing me and the great capital
which although may decline in glory yet
I pray it shall see better days ahead What an interesting last 2 lines! Gloomy foreshadowing followed by a hopeful sentiment — wonderful way to end this poem of conflicting tones!
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#4
Thanks for the feedback guys its been very helpful. Hopefully I can find some time to dish out an edited version. Todd you referred to the phrase "gods of Baal" to be honest I was struggling here to put the line in iambic pentameter so that is why it is the way it is. I still think its okay even though your right Baal was only a god rather a pantheon, but since he was the most important god in the canaanite pantheon I thought "the gods of Baal" still makes sense just like "the gods of Zeus" makes a degree of sense since he is the high god of that pantheon but I might need to rethink this a bit.
Poetry is the unexpected utterance of the soul 

Mark Nepo
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