A Baptist Observes Mardi Gras

[ChristopherSea]

Todd/Tectak/Rowens edit version 4: in progress

The zombies have awoken;
the harlequins don their caps.
They believe their foolish rites
will immortalize this night,Much cleaner.

but the Gods will turn their backs
on this eve’s garish façade;
disavowing these dark sheep, How? How do the backs of gods disavow?
as they vandalize twilight. Too many these,theys ,theirs, buts

After feasting like gluttons
in anticipation of Lent,
they pilgrimage to nowhere
on a muddled anguine routepilgrimage as such a dedicated noun doesn't read well as a verb.

to lurch The Big-Uneasy As you claim prior on "big-uneasy", Chris, what do you want it to mean. I ask because I do not know
in ill-defined conga lines,
with no lucid purpose to
their nihilistic debauch. debauch is the verb. Debauchery is the noun...no exceptions

They’ll dance the evening lifeless,
shaking their canes and rattles,
as they snake the warm asphalt,
freeing spirits from bottles.I like this stanza but I am getting overwhelmed by the theys and theirs. You must cut down on fillers. It is not easy because of the narrators location in all of this...it leans towards reportage. Try:
Dancing the evening lifeless
with shaking canes and rattles;
snaking along warm asphalt
freeing spirits from bottles.

Purblind in amber beer light,
they seek some neon beacon,
stumbling into false temples,
where faith can not subsist in. AAAARRRGGGHHHH! Where faith can not subsist! ....but do you mean subsist or exist?

Yes. It is better. I for one am pleased you are sticking with it. You still have issues with word use but one thing at a time.
Best,
tectak

Thanks for sticking with me master!

'nihilistic debauch' was coined by Kurt Vennegut in his novel 'Cat's Cradle': "When I returned to my apartment … I found [it] wrecked by a nihilistic debauch. Krebbs was gone; but, before leaving, he had run up three-hundred-dollars’ worth of long-distance calls, set my couch on fire in five places, killed my cat and my avocado tree, and torn the door off my medicine cabinet..." If it's good enough for him, it should be swell with you (but for you, I may use orgy)! I got you on 'pilgrimage' too: pilgrimage intransitive verb pilgrimaged pilgrimag·ing Definition of PILGRIMAGE: to go on a pilgrimage mir web.

You know it's the Gods fronts doing the disavowing (I'll look at the wording). I'll work on the butts for ya too. (_i_)

New Orelean's, where my bother lived for a time, is called 'The Big Easy' because of the slower paced living and low pressure life style. I am using 'The Big Uneasy' to convey how that image is overturned by the bizzarre shenanigans on Mardi Gras. Watch the reality show 'Cops'. They have at least a half of a dozen episodes busting fights in this streets on Fat Tuesday. It's a good sarcastic pun and not cliche.

Love that edit of the penultimate stanza tom! But take it easy, I know that last line is off. (Didn't you see the 'in progress sign' above? Stop speeding in a work zone!) On point, I wanted to end with 'in' or some near rhyme with beacon to have a cleaner sound close. Instead of not existing at all, I was thinking maybe it could not survive there. Oh, maybe thrive in!

I shall return with some edits, thanks chief!

Todd/Tectak/Rowens edit version 4.2 is up and it ain't half bad!


Todd/Tectak/Rowens edit version 4Thank you fellow poets!

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Todd/Tectak edit version 3

Queer zombies have awoken
and mad harlequins alike;
they believe their inane rites

will immortalize this night.
God turns an aloof shoulder
on this eve’s garish façade;

spurning this flock as his own,
that forages in twilight.
They’ll dance the evening lifeless,

shaking their canes and rattles,
and snake along warm asphalt,
freeing spirits from bottles.

They reel The Big-Uneasy
in ill-defined conga lines,
after feasting like gluttons,

in anticipation of Lent.
Their pilgrimage goes nowhere
at a languid anguine pace.

Their only clear objective:
swill this eve oblivious.
Purblind in amber beer light,

they seek some neon beacon,
stumbling into false temples
that no one could have faith in.

Todd/Tectak edit version 3 Thanks much,
I am starting to like this poem!


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todd edit version 2

The Gods have turned their backs
on this evening’s façade,
as the sun cautiously
closes an aloof eye.

Queer zombies awaken
and harlequins alike,
conducting futile rites
to immortalize this night.

They dance the eve lifeless,
shaking canes and rattles,
while snaking warm asphalt,
drinking spirits from bottles.

They reel The Big-Uneasy
within ill-defined ranks;
their bellies stuffed with pork fat
to compensate for Lent.

There’s no Yellow Brick Road,
or an Appian Way;
just an idle anguine route
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.


todd edit version 2 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.