Numb

[penguin]

In starry circles elevated
at Olympian floors
we have hyperventilated
on excursionary tours,
beheld our images dilated
in mementoes and encores
as we bathed intoxicated
behind visionary doors.
All things become outdated
given time enough, of course,
and my feet drag to the drum
now that I am numb.

With a fluency of language
(unintelligible babble)
I spoke ecstasy and anguish
to the comprehending rabble.
I could reconstruct the damaged
carried to me from the battle
and deconstruct their baggage,
hoist them back into the saddle.
But the eloquence has vanished
and the road is too well travelled;
shellshock has struck me dumb
now that I am numb.

I played the part of Casanova
when I still possessed charisma,
with a hand up your pullover
and an eye upon my finger
as it fastened to your shoulder,
as it waited for the whisper
that implored me to be bolder.
Ah, the blood is running winter
and the bones are broken colder
as I dither and malinger
in the fear that I can’t come
now that I am numb.

[tectak]

In starry circles elevated
at Olympian floors
we have hyperventilated
on excursionary tours,
beheld our images dilated
in mementoes and encores
as we bathed intoxicated
behind visionary doors.
All things become outdated
given time enough, of course,
and my feet drag to the drum
now that I am numb.

With a fluency of language
(unintelligible babble)
I spoke ecstasy and anguish
to the comprehending rabble.
I could reconstruct the damaged
carried to me from the battle
and deconstruct their baggage,
hoist them back into the saddle.
But the eloquence has vanished
and the road is too well travelled;
shellshock has struck me dumb
now that I am numb.

I played the part of Casanova
when I still possessed charisma,
with a hand up your pullover
and an eye upon my finger
as it fastened to your shoulder,
as it waited for the whisper
that implored me to be bolder.
Ah, the blood is running winter
and the bones are broken colder
as I dither and malinger
in the fear that I can’t come
now that I am numb.

No line by line as I am not entiurely sure what this is all about....and though small sections of it are peculiarly familiar, part of the familiarity is due to the form of the piece rather than the context. Now you know that I LOVE rhyme but I hope it is not my master.....this is only how I see this piece so brace yourself......I just get the feeling that rhyme is all in this piece. There is an edgy and probably unfair feeling in me that I can see a clever poet being...well.....clever. I would be going OTT if I said that this piece suffered from the rattling rhythm and the rigor of rhyme......but it is not helped.
What does all this mean?

"beheld our images dilated
in mementoes and encores
as we bathed intoxicated
behind visionary doors."
OK...I can get it if I try but there must be something I am contextuallly missing. Are we looking at Olympians on the podium of perfection? If so, where does this fit in?

"I could reconstruct the damaged
carried to me from the battle
and deconstruct their baggage,
hoist them back into the saddle."
OR are we looking at para-olympians on the podium of paraplegia?

I am not up to the translation but WANT to be so empowered.
Yes..it is clever.....but perhaps too clever by half (or three-quarters)
Best,
tectak

[rowens]

Just looks likes he needs his fix. But he's pretty much worn out his welcome with the gods and the girls.

[billy]

In starry circles elevated
at Olympian floors
we have hyperventilated
on excursionary tours,
beheld our images dilated
in mementoes and encores
as we bathed intoxicated
behind visionary doors.
All things become outdated
given time enough, of course,
and my feet drag to the drum
now that I am numb.

With a fluency of language
(unintelligible babble)
I spoke ecstasy and anguish
to the comprehending rabble.
I could reconstruct the damaged
carried to me from the battle
and deconstruct their baggage,
hoist them back into the saddle.
But the eloquence has vanished
and the road is too well travelled;
shellshock has struck me dumb
now that I am numb.

I played the part of Casanova
when I still possessed charisma,
with a hand up your pullover
and an eye upon my finger
as it fastened to your shoulder,
as it waited for the whisper
that implored me to be bolder.
Ah, the blood is running winter
and the bones are broken colder
as I dither and malinger
in the fear that I can’t come
now that I am numb.

i think a constant meter would help the poem, the last stanza feels much more substantive the the 1st and 2nd. and i think that's helped out by the meter, barring the 1st and last line of it. though it does feel feels a bit too coy.

while meter is a problem, i also think it tries too hard to be a poem. (the 1st and 2nd verse) it's sort of evading what it needs to say. i'm not sure the refrain helps that much because i'm lost too much in the first two verse to take notice of it as a refrain. there are some decent images and lines in there but they felt like separate entities that needed direction.

thanks for the read as always ray.

[penguin]

Thanks for the comments. I think I'll restore this poem's original title, which was Numb.It's nothing to do with Olympians more a general reflection on aging and redundancy.

"beheld our images dilated
in mementoes and encores
as we bathed intoxicated
behind visionary doors."

What does it mean? Erm, summat to do with drugs, youth,happiness,old photographs.

"I could reconstruct the damaged
carried to me from the battle
and deconstruct their baggage,
hoist them back into the saddle."

I used to be a mental nurse.I'm better now.

I'm going through all my poems, one by one, trying to improve them or abandon them. This only just made the cut.It's rhyme heavy, if you like, but I don't find it obtrudes unnecessarily.

Ray

[billy]

the rhymes are fine, they just aren't getting enough help from the rest of the poem