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Bad Form (for Ess)
| Critical Analysis #2 |
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Bad Form (for Ess) |
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Grinch Member Elite
since 2005-12-31
Posts 2929Whoville |
Is form the guiding answer when we write, A killer ending twisted by design? Hand crafted in some garret late at night Though tears of hate are brought with every line. Poetic feasts on which hard readers dine Mean poets grow old quicker than they might. Left scouring for new content high and fine, Is form the guiding answer when we write? A found gem may with work shine diamond bright, With plot and meter bouncing out the rhyme To drag a sorry story to the light; A killer ending twisted by design. How smooth when written well, close to sublime Yet many of them fail and end up trite, A monologue of whimper or of whine Hand crafted in a garret late at night. I fall within this would be poets plight, My poetry is never worth a dime, This pen and mind try hard to get it right Though tears of hate are brought with every line. Rondeau Redouble poems are hard to write, They’d even cause a curse from the divine Especially when your skill with words is slight, I have to force the lines to intertwine! Is form the guiding answer.. |
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Brad Member Ascendant
since 1999-08-20
Posts 5705Jejudo, South Korea |
I liked it. |
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Grinch Member Elite
since 2005-12-31
Posts 2929Whoville |
Try writing one.  |
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Brad Member Ascendant
since 1999-08-20
Posts 5705Jejudo, South Korea |
Okay, I never have. See you in a year or two. |
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Essorant Member Elite
since 2002-08-10
Posts 4769Regina, Saskatchewan; Canada |
It is no nay, I need not say a storm, In victory of poetry to win, The castle only stands with face and form With strength for those without and those within. From this the poets' feast is given inn Their bodies sheltered heat to keep them warm That otherwise were houseless wilderkin, It is no nay, I need not say a storm. Safe in her bower, not at all unnorm The princess' ear can hear a lording linn Afar in fighting fields the champions' chirm In victory of poetry to win. No weather blows it down with blustrous din. The bricks, if bees, were such a statued swarm If scales, they were so steadfast to the skin, The castle only stands with face and form. Upon the same old root, against the worm, A plant may stand, a tritness with no sin. No virtue grows too old yet to perform With strength for those without and those within. Fear not the hardness, but hold up your chin Defend the castle 'gainst the battlestorm, The bricks enjoy that keep such warmth within. Who can deny the virtuous force of form? It is no nay. |
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