Versus

[penguin]

This is a verse and not a fucking stanza –
why use six letters when five saves paper?
I’d rather turn plough than stand in a chamber.

Agricultural language suits this bard
and poetry’s but a topiary art:
that’s what I gather from your cutting remarks.

I’m lower case type inhabiting the basement
where jars and saucepans in haphazard placement
create an imperfect kind of enjambment

employed to collect red wine and sushi,
filter and ferment into something fruity –
that’s my trickle-down theory of beauty.

Up in the loft they reach for eternity
while I’m beset by a sense of urgency;
the soles beneath my feet are burning me

as I commit each metre to memory
stamping a legacy in ivory and ebony;
poetic justice now I’m out of energy.

[billy]

This is a verse and not a fucking stanza – great opener.
why use six letters when five saves paper? this is now an ironic poem
I’d rather turn plough than stand in a chamber.

Agricultural language suits this bard
and poetry’s but a topiary art:
that’s what I gather from your cutting remarks.

I’m lower case type inhabiting the basement i like that you start the line with a cap
where jars and saucepans in haphazard placement
create an imperfect kind of enjambment i like this verse a lot, specially the last line

employed to collect red wine and sushi,
filter and ferment into something fruity –
that’s my trickle-down theory of beauty. nice carry through metaphor with this verse

Up in the loft they reach for eternity
while I’m beset by a sense of urgency;
the soles beneath my feet are burning me

as I commit each metre to memory more irony
stamping a legacy in ivory and ebony;
poetic justice now I’m out of energy.

a rant is a rant is a rant, and if it isn't it should be. the comparison 'twixt verse and non verse and the idiosyncratic stanza and verse works well though is very ironic in it's use. i love a good rant poem. the last line is a keeper and makes it a humorous rant (for me). while the meter is off in places it does suite the poems context. i did enjoy it

thanks for the read,

[penguin]

Thanks, Billy. I see that you try your hardest on here but the responses to my last three poems can be counted on one hand and it just doesn't seem worth the effort.
Good luck, Ray

[Philatone]

hey ray! some thoughts

This is a verse and not a fucking stanza –
why use six letters when five saves paper? ...i felt this line could have been a bit more meta for the piece itself; something to do with the amount of lines you used or the meter, but it's just a thought
I’d rather turn plough than stand in a chamber. ...this stanza does a solid job of introducing the wordplay and tone of the piece.

Agricultural language suits this bard
and poetry’s but a topiary art:
that’s what I gather from your cutting remarks.

I’m lower case type inhabiting the basement
where jars and saucepans in haphazard placement
create an imperfect kind of enjambment ...like the "jar" and "jam" play here

employed to collect red wine and sushi, ...the long /i/ sounds of sushi, fruity, and beauty, weren't very pleasant for me. kind of works in the second two lines, but the first felt discordant
filter and ferment into something fruity –
that’s my trickle-down theory of beauty.

Up in the loft they reach for eternity ...this is where the piece starts to break down for me. the energy feels a bit lost, though i can't exactly convey why i feel that way. it feels like the ideas have weak transitions; yeah, i see the contrast of loft and basement, but it strikes me as a leap. make some stairs
while I’m beset by a sense of urgency;
the soles beneath my feet are burning me

as I commit each metre to memory
stamping a legacy in ivory and ebony; ...this has a better spoken effect (legacy in ivory and ebony) than written for me
poetic justice now I’m out of energy. ...not a fan of the last line, though I admit it captures what you are conveying just fine.

hope some of these thoughts may be useful!

[tectak]

This is a verse and not a fucking stanza –
why use six letters when five saves paper?
I’d rather turn plough than stand in a chamber.

Agricultural language suits this bard
and poetry’s but a topiary art:
that’s what I gather from your cutting remarks.
I’m lower case type inhabiting the basement
where jars and saucepans in haphazard placement
create an imperfect kind of enjambment

employed to collect red wine and sushi,
filter and ferment into something fruity –
that’s my trickle-down theory of beauty.

Up in the loft they reach for eternity
while I’m beset by a sense of urgency;
the soles beneath my feet are burning me

as I commit each metre to memory
stamping a legacy in ivory and ebony;
poetic justice now I’m out of energy.

This is a rap. The usual imaginative word use (sometimes cryptic!) works well in this piece just because the art form us so well known. The only real ( and I mean "real" as against gratuitous) problem is the difficulty of instant translation. The third or forth fucking verse or fucking stanza is incomprehensible to me but I do not care. Most rap makes no sense to me and so I have to look for some other attribute like rhythm or more correctly "beat" and this I can do.
If there is a message in the piece it is more of a plea.....I may be wrong, it has been known, but this piece is screaming CRIT ME!!
Well, I know the feeling but have decided that lack of critical comment in any work is very telling. From where I sit, this piece is just below my horizon.....but the world is turning. Can you wait until dawn?
Best,
tectak