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I'm trying to get back into this, but I think the form and the rhymes murdered this poem. Anyway, have at it.
A man was waiting for the bus.
Averting my eyes, I heard
Familiar nonsense in his tone,
And listened as he slurred.
He held a bag of empty butts
That he kept lighting up.
Perhaps each lighter flick beheld
A dream that’s held in cups.
His pinioned wings were burned away,
And had been long ago.
Like naked men at sea he drank
The salty lifeless flow.
I fancied all this from his gait,
And drank him up myself
Against the active urge to place
Him on a dusty shelf.
I’ve inked him here but I forgot
The zenith of this tale.
He fell into a lear-like rage,
And soon, a silent quail.
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(06-27-2014, 05:13 PM)Brownlie Wrote: I'm trying to get back into this, but I think the form and the rhymes murdered this poem. Anyway, have at it.
A man was waiting for the bus.
Averting my eyes, I heard
Familiar nonsense in his tone,
And listened as he slurred.
He held a bag of empty butts
That he kept lighting up.
Perhaps each lighter flick beheld
A dream that’s held in cups.
His pinioned wings were burned away,
And had been long ago.
Like naked men at sea he drank
The salty lifeless flow.
I fancied all this from his gait,
And drank him up myself
Against the active urge to place
Him on a dusty shelf.
I’ve inked him here but I forgot
The zenith of this tale.
He fell into a lear-like rage,
And soon, a silent quail.
While true, I think, that the meter and rhyme are off; but despite that it makes a pleasant read. Considering the story, I just don't like "Him on a dusty shelf". Best Loretta
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(06-30-2014, 05:21 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: (06-27-2014, 05:13 PM)Brownlie Wrote: I'm trying to get back into this, but I think the form and the rhymes murdered this poem. Anyway, have at it.
A man was waiting for the bus.
Averting my eyes, I heard
Familiar nonsense in his tone,
And listened as he slurred.
He held a bag of empty butts
That he kept lighting up.
Perhaps each lighter flick beheld
A dream that’s held in cups.
His pinioned wings were burned away,
And had been long ago.
Like naked men at sea he drank
The salty lifeless flow.
I fancied all this from his gait,
And drank him up myself
Against the active urge to place
Him on a dusty shelf.
I’ve inked him here but I forgot
The zenith of this tale.
He fell into a lear-like rage,
And soon, a silent quail.
While true, I think, that the meter and rhyme are off; but despite that it makes a pleasant read. Considering the story, I just don't like "Him on a dusty shelf". Best Loretta I think you make some good points, thanks for commenting.
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Joined: Dec 2016
As this is in mild, I shall keep it such. I can live with most of this, except maybe for the empty butts. If it is empty you are lighting the filter, as they are empty of tobacco. Plus I am not sure if it is the bag or the butts he is lighting, although neither make much sense.
tale-quail seems an extremely forced rhyme to me. Using quail does not seem to relate to "Lear" at all (King Lear, I'm assuming). It seems the only purpose for using "quail". Plus it is phrased ambiguously. He fell into...a silent quail. How does one do that.
Those two things were a bit of a show stopper for me.
Dale
How long after picking up the brush, the first masterpiece?
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.
just mercedes
Unregistered
(06-27-2014, 05:13 PM)Brownlie Wrote: I'm trying to get back into this, but I think the form and the rhymes murdered this poem. Anyway, have at it.
A man was waiting for the bus.
Averting my eyes, I heard I don't understand why you averted your eyes[
Familiar nonsense in his tone,
And listened as he slurred.
He held a bag of empty butts there must be a better word than 'empty'
That he kept lighting up.
Perhaps each lighter flick beheld beheld? You're anthropomorphizing a lighter click, not even a lighter. Very abstract.
A dream that’s held in cups.
His pinioned wings were burned away, how do you know he'd once had wings?
And had been long ago.
Like naked men at sea he drank
The salty lifeless flow. So, men at sea with clothes drink something else?
I fancied all this from his gait, If he's waiting at the bus stop, he's not walking around, surely?
And drank him up myself
Against the active urge to place
Him on a dusty shelf. Just there for the rhyme?
I’ve inked him here but I forgot
The zenith of this tale. I'm not sure how his rage and silence were the high point
He fell into a lear-like rage,
And soon, a silent quail. Those silent quail - very hard to catch!
I think you got caught up in the rhyme scheme and manipulated your words to fit, rather than manipulating rhyme to fit your words. I like the sketch done 'en plein air' but somehow the rhyme takes away the vivid impressions.
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 (I'm not really hysterical but the comments are kind of funny) All in all you both bring up some very valid points. This poem is quite messy.
quail verb
: to feel afraid and often to show your fear in a way that can be clearly seen
It still doesn't vindicate quail. The guy was talking to himself, he had a bag full of burnt out butts he was trying to smoke, and then he collapsed on the ground. An ambulance came by, and he wouldn't talk to them so they took him away. Anyway, thanks for the comments.
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Joined: Jul 2014
I am more a free-verse fan, so the rhymes don't really appeal to me here, but I find the context, the idea and the imagery interesting!
Alex
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