09-11-2013, 06:50 AM
(09-09-2013, 08:46 PM)ChristopherSea Wrote: todd edit version 2
The Gods have turned their backs
on this evening’s façade, What meaning are you ascribing to facade? I ask because I do not know. Facade is simply the front...so what meaneth thou to be so obscure? There is more.
as the sun cautiously You are pedantically profligate...as I am now. You are over modifying to impress to the extent that it reads as though written in a school poetry contest. The "cautiously aloof" combination is indecipherable in terms of imagery.
closes an aloof eye.
Queer zombies awaken Queer is well enough hijacked to be unacceptably acceptable in any other sense than of a rampant homosexual...especially when used as yet another bizarre modifier. Do you mean strange, peculiar, or definitively and exclusively descriptive in that straight zombies remain asleep? Loose
and harlequins alike,
conducting futile rites
to immortalize this night. I get the carnival characters but fail to be sufficiently image-replete to consider the evening "immortalized" What CAN you see that I can not?
They dance the eve lifeless,
shaking canes and rattles,
while snaking warm asphalt,
drinking spirits from bottles. Shock horrror that "they" should drink from bottles. This is a far-out carnival. Why a moment ago I saw a guy put out his smoke IN AN ASH TRAY. Sheesh!
They reel The Big-Uneasy
within ill-defined ranks;
their bellies stuffed with pork fat
to compensate for Lent. Dreadful, chris. Just dreadful. Quite apart from the deliberate (...and this is fine) absence of rhyme you try me by STILL seeming to have difficulty picking a non-rhyme
There’s no Yellow Brick Road, Never was....your point is?
or an Appian Way;
just an idle anguine route Why idle? Why anguine? ...and how can a "lazy snake road" swill? You are deluding yourself and the reader by these convoluted hyberboles. It is just not worthy
to swill this eve oblivious. I am now worried. I is like word dysleia..dislekae...ponderification.
Watch dim wits in beer light,
seeking neon beacons;[[
who sing in false temples
that no one could have faith in. Who, what,why,where, when? Puzzled? You soon will be
Hi chris,
Speak to me...but clearly. This is a uniformly enigmatic piece of frippery. I would love to say that it ticked any box for me...but no. The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson via todd.That's crit.
Best,
tectak
todd edit version 2 [b]Thank you!
-------------------------
original
Sol warily closes
his reticent eye and
turns an averse shoulder
on this evening’s facade.
Queer zombies awaken
and harlequins alike,
all seeking pretexts to
immortalize the night.
They snake asphalt streets;
drink spirits from bottles,
then dance the night lifeless,
shaking canes and rattles.
In ill-defined ranks, they
reel The Big-Uneasy
on circuitous paths
befitting the anguine.
There’s no Yellow Brick Road,
or an Appian Way;
just idle routes to swill
this eve oblivious.
Watch dim wits in beer light,
seeking neon beacons,
who sing in false temples
that no one could have faith in.
