12-04-2024, 11:31 AM
When I click on a poem to comment on, I always do it before I read the poem. I'm active, not reactive. So any prejudice is my own.
Now, if you've gotten that joke, let's get to this one.
And if you have gotten both, you are open to listen:
As we come to life and hear the songbird,
The world looks bright beneath the trees.
It has come to pass, the bout of sorrow
That kept us trembling at the knees.
This is a wellstructured stanza.
It is lighter now beside the songbird,
This line is making a someone wonder.
The weight is swaying with the leaves.
And the plight of doubt is silent, unheard,
The voices whisper in the breeze:
There is nothing wrong with this way of writing, and this will work in many ways
besides
what I'm saying here
about how picky readers, at first glance, with not much patience, but with lots of intelligence,
will pick apart the plight doubt silent unheard and see nothing about voices and how they can whisper on a breeze whether they care about any of that or not.
We come together
So naturally,
Procreation
Binds us endlessly.
I see you through the clouds,
You're even higher now.
You fill the misty nights,
You keep my dreams alive.
The change of pace tricks out of the nothing into something. O My! There is a sonic method to the madness.
I look above in awe,
I watch my angel soar.
You set my soul alight,
You weave the midnight sky.
The rest keeps the rhythm. And what is happening is good. You talk, then you allow the reader (that critical or take it as I cum masturbater) to make up their spirit, whether or not, and
then you make it natural and easy and natural again if anyone second-guessed . . .
If time were ours to bend,
If it would never end,
If I could stay with you,
Forever's far too few.
through the rest of the poem . . .
We'll meet again someday,
When looming ravens take
Our feathered souls away,
And lay our flesh in graves.
Which means that you are a potential Genius of feeling and sound, with no substance.
Don't take this up with me, but with your Genius. Which is there . . . if you don't give up.
pip pap pop
Now, if you've gotten that joke, let's get to this one.
And if you have gotten both, you are open to listen:
As we come to life and hear the songbird,
The world looks bright beneath the trees.
It has come to pass, the bout of sorrow
That kept us trembling at the knees.
This is a wellstructured stanza.
It is lighter now beside the songbird,
This line is making a someone wonder.
The weight is swaying with the leaves.
And the plight of doubt is silent, unheard,
The voices whisper in the breeze:
There is nothing wrong with this way of writing, and this will work in many ways
besides
what I'm saying here
about how picky readers, at first glance, with not much patience, but with lots of intelligence,
will pick apart the plight doubt silent unheard and see nothing about voices and how they can whisper on a breeze whether they care about any of that or not.
We come together
So naturally,
Procreation
Binds us endlessly.
I see you through the clouds,
You're even higher now.
You fill the misty nights,
You keep my dreams alive.
The change of pace tricks out of the nothing into something. O My! There is a sonic method to the madness.
I look above in awe,
I watch my angel soar.
You set my soul alight,
You weave the midnight sky.
The rest keeps the rhythm. And what is happening is good. You talk, then you allow the reader (that critical or take it as I cum masturbater) to make up their spirit, whether or not, and
then you make it natural and easy and natural again if anyone second-guessed . . .
If time were ours to bend,
If it would never end,
If I could stay with you,
Forever's far too few.
through the rest of the poem . . .
We'll meet again someday,
When looming ravens take
Our feathered souls away,
And lay our flesh in graves.
Which means that you are a potential Genius of feeling and sound, with no substance.
Don't take this up with me, but with your Genius. Which is there . . . if you don't give up.
pip pap pop