06-21-2014, 06:45 AM
Portrait of a Lost Poet (edit 2, Erthona, tectak, trueenigma, Brownlie)
He's lost himself, like truth trapped in a maze.
cast aside for sycophantic praise.
Choosing theater, needing the applause,
a childhood of neglect and loss the cause.
His pride is built on flattery and cheers,
constructed by admirers and peers.
Casting nets for praise with subtlety;
solicitous of status socially.
He strides with classic flourish when onstage
and takes deep bows, delighted with the praise.
With social grace he flaunts the words of art;,
while the poems, drift alone, in his heart.
And so, the silenced poet sleeps in dark.
He's recently retired from the stage,
"few parts", he said, for someone of his age.
As time endures then decades quicken pace,
so now his aging ass would like to grace
a plush and comfy padded rocking chair;
with, what else, lost poetic flair.
He's tired now; with effort climbs the stairs
and breathless falls upon the nearest chair,
with age, though aspirations debonair:
the spirit of the Bard awaits him there.
Portrait of a Lost Poet (edit 1: title change: tectak, Brownlie, Billy, Trueenigma)
A lost poet;
He wanders from himself,
but doesn't know it.
He sees a mentor gain him place,
to please his clique, promote his face.
He thrives on flattery and cheers,
impressing his admirers and peers.
On stage his words were classic parts;
from masters like Williams, Miller and Sartre.
Socially he flourished words of art,
words divided from his self apart.
Is he now upon the stage,
or words and heart in life engaged?
He seeks to overcome the commonplace.
His quickly aging ass would like to grace
a plush and comfy padded rocking chair;
with, what else, unknown poetic flair.
As one of practiced wits and charm as he
his nets are cast with care and subtlety.
He tires and with effort climbs the stair
and breathless, with age, falls upon a chair,
The Bard's spirit awaits him there,
Will he pluck it from the lofty air?
PRACTICE (ERTHONA)
Portrait of a lost poet,
He's lost himself, the truth within him dazed
cast aside for sycophantic praise.
His pride is built on flattery and cheers
impressing his admirers and peers
On stage his work was classic theater parts
The likes of Shakespeare, Miller, Williams, Sartre
Socially he flourished words of art,
the poet hidden from real life apart
He's lost himself, like truth trapped in a maze.
cast aside for sycophantic praise.
Choosing theater, needing the applause,
a childhood of neglect and loss the cause.
His pride is built on flattery and cheers,
constructed by admirers and peers.
Casting nets for praise with subtlety;
solicitous of status socially.
He strides with classic flourish when onstage
and takes deep bows, delighted with the praise.
With social grace he flaunts the words of art;,
while the poems, drift alone, in his heart.
And so, the silenced poet sleeps in dark.
He's recently retired from the stage,
"few parts", he said, for someone of his age.
As time endures then decades quicken pace,
so now his aging ass would like to grace
a plush and comfy padded rocking chair;
with, what else, lost poetic flair.
He's tired now; with effort climbs the stairs
and breathless falls upon the nearest chair,
with age, though aspirations debonair:
the spirit of the Bard awaits him there.
Portrait of a Lost Poet (edit 1: title change: tectak, Brownlie, Billy, Trueenigma)
A lost poet;
He wanders from himself,
but doesn't know it.
He sees a mentor gain him place,
to please his clique, promote his face.
He thrives on flattery and cheers,
impressing his admirers and peers.
On stage his words were classic parts;
from masters like Williams, Miller and Sartre.
Socially he flourished words of art,
words divided from his self apart.
Is he now upon the stage,
or words and heart in life engaged?
He seeks to overcome the commonplace.
His quickly aging ass would like to grace
a plush and comfy padded rocking chair;
with, what else, unknown poetic flair.
As one of practiced wits and charm as he
his nets are cast with care and subtlety.
He tires and with effort climbs the stair
and breathless, with age, falls upon a chair,
The Bard's spirit awaits him there,
Will he pluck it from the lofty air?
PRACTICE (ERTHONA)
Portrait of a lost poet,
He's lost himself, the truth within him dazed
cast aside for sycophantic praise.
His pride is built on flattery and cheers
impressing his admirers and peers
On stage his work was classic theater parts
The likes of Shakespeare, Miller, Williams, Sartre
Socially he flourished words of art,
the poet hidden from real life apart