From he who only farted

[Brownlie]

I love this one, you really managed to stick to your topic and the language is beautiful. Better luck next time.

Oops, just realized this is in Mild Critique, some notes below:

O muse I pray you fill my barren chest
so I may puff my torso up with wind Good description of pride.
and pour a drooping poppy’s strain depressed
before the bloom with heavy head down pinned.
Let owl songs that guide a rusty knife
towards suicide be new endowed in me
so I may use a death to eek a life, Owl songs is a beautiful way to indicate night.
be ripe with a rich green and potpourri,  I stumbled on the meter here.
and hang like a dead note on bathroom walls
that chokes out feces with a harsh perfume.
Like an unpapered sadness in the stall,
let me reign higher than the flushing spume. The meter reads a bit off in these two lines but "unpapered sadness" is grand.
I know there’s nothing divine in your light,
but do not suffer me  a tail end’s blight.

Hope this helps, though I can think of some other remedies.

I appreciate the comments, I think you pointed out some good metrical frailties above. As far as the owl, I think it was often a symbol of death and what-not. Take this stanza from Edmund Spenser's The Faerie Queene  where an owl is hanging out in front of Despair's Cave.

Ere long they come, where that same wicked wight

His dwelling has, low in an hollow cave, 
Farre underneath a craggie clift ypight,
Darke, dolefull, drearie, like a greedy grave,
That still for carrion carcases doth crave:
On top whereof aye dwelt the ghastly Owle,
Shrieking his balefull note, which ever drave 
Far from that haunt all other chearefull fowle;
And all about it wandring ghostes did waile and howle.

-- and then a few stanzas down --

His garment nought but many ragged clouts,

With thornes together pind and patched was,
The which his naked sides he wrapt abouts;
And him beside there lay upon the gras
A drearie corse, whose life away did pas, 
All wallowed in his owne yet luke-warme blood,
That from his wound yet welled fresh alas;
In which a rustie knife fast fixed stood,
And made an open passage for the gushing flood.


Thanks again (especially if you managed to choke down the Spenser).