04-16-2012, 08:25 AM
Edit 1 philatone
Old words lie pegged on each bare page,
burnt black on blinding ground.
Fiducial marks on this parched plain
lead not nor guide the leaking pen
that spills its juice, as do all men,
when first the thirst of lust is slain.
Virginity, once lost, twice found,
Becomes just one more passant stage.
And so the pressured poet sits
amused by moving themes
(whilst critics huff and puff themselves
ballooned by egocentric air,
though bursting to be seen as fair)
the rancid bag in which he delves
delivers by his scrabbled dreams
no more than verse which fits.
Scream out, scream loud for freedom; curse
the muse who holds the reins.
The poem is never over 'till
the critics throw their hats to sky
and cheer your win as home you fly;
across that final welcome sill,
that perfect line to end the pain,
with one word left. At last ...a verse.
Tectak
2012
I figured I had been getting above myself of late but I can't help it. I JUST LIKE RHYME! To those who are offended by my dogma, I submit this as an example of contrived poetry. You should know it took eleven minutes of my life to write but boy did I enjoy it? Too right!
Old words lie pegged on each bare page,
burnt black on blinding ground.
Fiducial marks on this parched plain
lead not nor guide the leaking pen
that spills its juice, as do all men,
when first the thirst of lust is slain.
Virginity, once lost, twice found,
Becomes just one more passant stage.
And so the pressured poet sits
amused by moving themes
(whilst critics huff and puff themselves
ballooned by egocentric air,
though bursting to be seen as fair)
the rancid bag in which he delves
delivers by his scrabbled dreams
no more than verse which fits.
Scream out, scream loud for freedom; curse
the muse who holds the reins.
The poem is never over 'till
the critics throw their hats to sky
and cheer your win as home you fly;
across that final welcome sill,
that perfect line to end the pain,
with one word left. At last ...a verse.
Tectak
2012
I figured I had been getting above myself of late but I can't help it. I JUST LIKE RHYME! To those who are offended by my dogma, I submit this as an example of contrived poetry. You should know it took eleven minutes of my life to write but boy did I enjoy it? Too right!