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Passions in Poetry

Arcadia

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Local Parasite
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since 11-05-2001
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Transylconia, Winnipeg


0 posted 04-25-2005 06:08 PM       View Profile for Local Parasite   Email Local Parasite   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to Submit your Poem to Passions   Click to visit Local Parasite's Home Page   View IP for Local Parasite

Whisper, ye quiet Muses of the shades
Who in the light once raised your merry heads
And your blithe countenance through all the glades
Of bright Arcadia boasted, in the stead
Of your once-pious shepherds who, now dead,
Towards Elysium's fields their eyes have bent,
Their reeds all rotten, and their flocks unfed:
Your wise refrains myself I oft prevent
In pausing to ensure they merit my consent.

I have no shepherd's voice, no goats to rear,
Nor oaten flutes, nor stringed instrument,
Nor pantheon of gods to win my fear:
All these have gone, by fortune's whimsy sent
To the sad fate of ancient parliament.
Yea, but the piteous sorrow of the Spirit
Echoes, bedecked in modern ornament:
Though none to love there are, and few to hear it,
I recognize its tone, or something rather near it.

No more, perhaps, in contest can I hope
To seek the value of my yearning. Still,
Perhaps I'll solace find, or means to cope
With this antique affliction, or distill
The best of my experiences and fill
My Spirit's hands that, cupped for thirst and hunger
Petition to my Reason, or my Will,
Or to you, dearest Muses: that no longer
Desire be kept at bay, but learning, be made stronger.

So chanced it, as I walked the jagged ways
Through all the mazy, blasphemous design
Of what is called Utopia, my gaze
Searching the passing crowds, line upon line,
Column on column, monument and mind,
I saw her waiting for me, back reclined,
Facing away, her hands upon the grass,
Her legs crossed comfortably, well-aligned
Her hair, though it was windy, smooth as glass,
And dyed, by fancy, as it were, to match the grass.

We had arranged to meet: I seeing her
The previous day, seated across from me,
Riding the bus downtown, decided there
To interrupt her conversationally:
We'd known each other briefly, previously,
My affectations having lost her favour
She had passed from my life uncertainly,
But now occasion made my heart the braver
To try my chance again at love's familiar flavour.

Now as I saw her, though myself yet hidden
Behind the noisy clamour of the crowd
Her sacred "yes" assaulted me unbidden,
Confronting me. I called her name aloud,
Uncommon, sweet to hear: Her emerald shroud
She stirred to one side, and her pale green eyes
Invited me, as sunlight through a cloud
Nurtures the faithless flowers with its wise
Presiding warmth, that they its splendour recognize.

So, at the local festival, all day
We basked like children in festivities
And magic shows, musical sets, and plays:
We gave our audience to comedies
Crude in their content, and to tragedies
Shallow in their conception. All the while
I watched her face, to see if they could please
Her facial features, hardly versatile,
Ranging but from a frown to a sarcastic smile.

Nor did she ever smile from happiness
All day until Utopia's puppets settled,
And the moon's steady eye with silence pressed
The marketplace, and all the sleepy petals
Of the unseeing flowers her moonlight nettled
To their resigned slumber. Grabbing my wrist,
She burst out running with unworldly mettle,
Faster than I could protest or resist,
Towards a fountain, spouting high and scattering mist.

I know now, Muses, what it is that moves
The fingers of the flutist on the plain,
That teaches the illiterate maid to love
And animates the shepherd's pastoral strain,
That soothes the clouded flowers with gentle rain,
Incites rich men unworldly things to seek,
And Eden's pleasure secretly sustains:
Arcadia, that calms her semblance meek;
Arcadia, the dampness resting on her cheek.

For as the fountain lowers, and the moon
Draws back, and autumn's chill strips bare the trees
Of summer's radiance, a modest boon
Alters the colour of their falling leaves,
In whom the grass a brown reflection sees:
The one by whom I lay down every night
Sleepily rests her head upon my knees
As I comb snowflakes through her hair. The rites
Of winter finally appear, radiant and white.
© Copyright 2005 Brian James Lee - All Rights Reserved
Alicat
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since 05-23-99
Posts 4277
Coastal Texas


1 posted 04-25-2005 07:44 PM       View Profile for Alicat   Email Alicat   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Alicat

I've no criticisms, as mentioned in your critique message.  LP, you have a definite knack for odes, and for weaving deft imagery into forms easily consumed and devoured by rapturous orisons enamored.
Midnitesun
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Gaia


2 posted 04-25-2005 09:13 PM       View Profile for Midnitesun   Email Midnitesun   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Midnitesun

sighs *damn*
I'll be back again after I catch my breath.
This is...breathtakingly beautiful.
Martie
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since 09-21-1999
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3 posted 04-25-2005 10:10 PM       View Profile for Martie   Email Martie   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Martie's Home Page   View IP for Martie

Brian

I'll be back to read this when I have the time to savor it!
Martie
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4 posted 04-26-2005 10:32 AM       View Profile for Martie   Email Martie   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Martie's Home Page   View IP for Martie

Brian

There is nothing I could say to help you do better....you seem to me to be already at the top.  This is so well done...the visuals so clear that I was absorbed.  A wonderful read, you are!  
Capricious
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since 09-14-2002
Posts 89
California, USA


5 posted 04-26-2005 01:25 PM       View Profile for Capricious   Email Capricious   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Capricious

Masterful writing.
Mysteria
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since 03-07-2001
Posts 19652
British Columbia, Canada


6 posted 04-27-2005 12:06 AM       View Profile for Mysteria   Email Mysteria   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Mysteria

Well Bri, considering I am no poet my opinion would not count for that much, but as a fan I can say this, "Hot Damn!" This poem was simply pure perfection!  You have mastered the art of visuals and that is for darn sure!  Oh and you "da dum" darn good too


Arcadia, that calms her semblance meek;
Arcadia, the dampness resting on her cheek.


Ah, this brings a tear to one sentimental Canadian's blue eye.
Balladeer
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Ft. Lauderdale, Fl USA


7 posted 04-27-2005 12:33 AM       View Profile for Balladeer   Email Balladeer   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Balladeer's Home Page   View IP for Balladeer

What an incredible piece of work this is..

Not only do the excellently chosen words create a perfect mood for the time period of the poem but you have created an intricate rhyme scheme and carried it through the entire piece with no loss to quality whatsoever. I can only imagine the effort that went into this creation.

You, sir, are a poet....
Dark Angel
Member Patricius
since 08-04-99
Posts 10270


8 posted 04-27-2005 02:18 AM       View Profile for Dark Angel   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Dark Angel

Oh WOW, i wish i could write like this

this, you.. took my breath away

sigh

placing this jewel safely into my library...click

M  


"we all have wings, but some of us don't know why"

Michael Hutchence (INXS)
Toerag
Member Ascendant
since 07-29-99
Posts 5839
Ala bam a


9 posted 04-27-2005 06:56 AM       View Profile for Toerag   Email Toerag   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Toerag

Well, Balladeer never said anything like that about one of my masterpieces..(okay, so I've never had a masterpiece...except for this girl that I once...oh, never mind)....this is incredible....very well done.....
garysgirl
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since 09-29-2002
Posts 20064
Florida, USA


10 posted 04-27-2005 07:36 AM       View Profile for garysgirl   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit garysgirl's Home Page   View IP for garysgirl

Brian, your writing makes me speechless. That in itself is amazing!! LOL You make me sit here with my mouth open at your abilities to write. Yes, as the others have already said....Brian, you are truly a poet!!
Hugs,
Ethel
Janet Marie
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since 01-22-2000
Posts 18986


11 posted 04-27-2005 07:40 AM       View Profile for Janet Marie   Email Janet Marie   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Janet Marie

Nor did she ever smile from happiness
All day until Utopia's puppets settled,
And the moon's steady eye with silence pressed
The marketplace, and all the sleepy petals
Of the unseeing flowers her moonlight nettled
To their resigned slumber. Grabbing my wrist,
She burst out running with unworldly mettle,
Faster than I could protest or resist,
Towards a fountain, spouting high and scattering mist.

I know now, Muses, what it is that moves
The fingers of the flutist on the plain,
That teaches the illiterate maid to love
And animates the shepherd's pastoral strain,
That soothes the clouded flowers with gentle rain,
Incites rich men unworldly things to seek,
And Eden's pleasure secretly sustains:
Arcadia, that calms her semblance meek;
Arcadia, the dampness resting on her cheek.

For as the fountain lowers, and the moon
Draws back, and autumn's chill strips bare the trees
Of summer's radiance, a modest boon
Alters the colour of their falling leaves,
In whom the grass a brown reflection sees:
The one by whom I lay down every night
Sleepily rests her head upon my knees
As I comb snowflakes through her hair. The rites
Of winter finally appear, radiant and white.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


You already know I think (I know) you are poetically brilliant...and this piece proves it.
Sheer heaven to read aloud...
as always...your rhyme speak is divine,
Balladeer mentions the effort this may have taken...but me thinks you talk in your sleep with cadence.
Enchantress
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since 08-14-2001
Posts 37801
Somewhere in time~


12 posted 04-27-2005 09:02 AM       View Profile for Enchantress   Email Enchantress   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Enchantress

What an incredible piece this is!!
I haven't read anything so well done in a very very long time...if ever!!
Bravo!!  You Brian, have amazing talent!!!
littlewing
Member Rara Avis
since 03-02-2003
Posts 9998
New York


13 posted 04-27-2005 11:38 AM       View Profile for littlewing   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for littlewing

Bri:

first of all this is my favorite:

I know now, Muses, what it is that moves
The fingers of the flutist on the plain,
That teaches the illiterate maid to love
And animates the shepherd's pastoral strain,
That soothes the clouded flowers with gentle rain,
Incites rich men unworldly things to seek,
And Eden's pleasure secretly sustains:
Arcadia, that calms her semblance meek;
Arcadia, the dampness resting on her cheek.


and secondly, this is perfection . . .

I adore how this can be read in so many ways, personally to me as finding your muse and embracing her, loving her, writing, creating, living and loving and also just the definition of love.  I mean, you have to love your muse whether it be real or imaginary or within yourself.  And you glean the mind of the muse, of every muse from every walk of life here and also from your own perspective as how you see her as you sit down to create.  I also see her in your mind's eye as the one you are searching for (or have found), the one who has won your heart, the one who controls you, rather the one you allow to be controlled by.

I often wonder which spirit has coupled with your own because I have told you since I have first met you that you are a very old soul and after reading this I see Dionysisus, Socrates, Plato, Jesus, Joyce, Whitman, Coleridge, Wordsworth and Freud . . . a lil Nietschze too.  


Beautiful Brian . . . simply amazing, that mind of yours. You have created pure Panacea.

  
serenity blaze
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since 02-02-2000
Posts 28839


14 posted 04-27-2005 03:20 PM       View Profile for serenity blaze   Email serenity blaze   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for serenity blaze

"I have no shepherd's voice, no goats to rear,
Nor oaten flutes, nor stringed instrument,
Nor pantheon of gods to win my fear:
All these have gone, by fortune's whimsy sent
To the sad fate of ancient parliament.
Yea, but the piteous sorrow of the Spirit
Echoes, bedecked in modern ornament:
Though none to love there are, and few to hear it,
I recognize its tone, or something rather near it."

How is it that you know this place? You wrote my state of mind in that stanza and managed to make me feel--and yanno? I should type the accolades, but you already know that I consider you among, (if not THE) finest poets at Pip.

Well done, you wickedly gifted thing.

iliana
Member Patricius
since 12-05-2003
Posts 13488
USA


15 posted 04-28-2005 12:24 AM       View Profile for iliana   Email iliana   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for iliana

Brian, your writing always impresses me!  This is a work of art!   ....jo
and it's going to my library!
Local Parasite
Deputy Moderator 10 Tours
Member Elite
since 11-05-2001
Posts 2929
Transylconia, Winnipeg


16 posted 04-29-2005 01:02 AM       View Profile for Local Parasite   Email Local Parasite   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Local Parasite's Home Page   View IP for Local Parasite

I am totally overwhelmed at the size of my response, here.  I appreciate any and everyone's comments---it certainly has been giving me a lot of pleasure to read such a generally positive response.

Alicat:  Thank you for your comments.  I can't help but get the impression that you're using my critique message as an excuse to censor yourself, though---is there something you'd like to critique that it doesn't seem like I'm giving you permission for?

By the way, are you referring to my choice of stanza in particular when you say "forms easily consumed and devoured by rapturous orisons enamored?"  It's been done before, with this stanza.  Though I agree that Tennyson's "The Lotos Eaters" is probably not the best example of the Spenserian stanza (it gets weighed down by, like you say, "rapturous orisons enamored"), Shelley's elegy "Adonais" is a fantastic application of the felt, pastoral tone I was trying to reach with in this poem.  I think this stanza is very capable of that very thing, though I haven't fully taken advantage of the essential couplet right at the center of the stanza which makes it so pleasurable in form.  I guess I got weighed down.

Midnitesun:  Still haven't caught your breath, eh?  That's a high compliment!  Thanks for reading me.

Martie:  You know that your opinions are very valuable to me.  The fact that anything I write could "absorb" you makes me think that I must, indeed, be doing something right, considering the high standard of "absorbedness" in subject that you demonstrate in your own poetry.  You do this much better than I (writing from experiences, I mean)... I am much more an allegorical writer than a romantic, and your approval is something I take as encouragement to go into this form a lot more in the future.  Thank you very much for reading and giving me your response, you marvellous woman.  

Capricious:  Thank you for reading.  I don't think this is quite "masterful" yet, but it is at least worthy of revision, I should hope.

Mysteria:  Your opinion counts more to me than you might realize.  I'm glad that the doubleness of those lines you cite aren't entirely beyond comprehension---I was trying to write of the mist of the fountain and the possibility of tears in her eyes (though I don't think there were any---she was so happy, as I remember).  

You say "sentimental," too.  Did I remind you of something personal?  I'd really like to hear more about that, if so.

Balladeer:  Would you believe me if I said the time period was Summer 2003?  Heh... I was basing this poem on a sort of Wordsworthian starting point, a "rememberance of things past," but it was my intention to appeal it to the pastoral tradition of "Arcadia," the ancient Greek pre-civilized "Utopia."  Everything in this poem happened to me, and the "chosen words" were meant to create some kind of ambiguity in time period without taking away from the sincerity of what I was interpreting.  This is why I prefer to stay away from words like "bus" (which I grudgingly used), and appeal to more permanent things like natural imagery or timeless human traditions.

I'm grateful that you should say there was no loss of quality whatsoever, but skeptical.  Though, the poet is his own worst critic, of course, knowing every compromise that was made for the sake of his format... a formalist such as yourself, though, knows these things as well as I do, and I do believe that you are being honest, so I'd like to thank you for specifically commenting on the effect of the form I chose.  It's something I meant to use for sentimental purposes, because the Spenserian stanza can be extremely beautiful when used correctly (far beyond anything I've done here), and I really want to make it mine.  Again, thank you for reading and responding, as the opinion of a poet of your caliber means to me a great deal.

Dark Angel:  I'm so glad to hear that I'm leaving the women breathless.  There's one woman I have yet to show this to (the woman about whom it's written), and I only hope that her response is as positive.  It's also nice to have found my way into your library!  You gave me a big smile, thank you for reading and responding.

Toerag:  Thanks for your comments... I must say that it's probably best that Balladeer hasn't commented on any of the "masterpieces" of your personal life, and I wouldn't give him any ideas if I were you.

Gary's Girl:  Thank you so much for reading me!  It's so nice to know that you enjoyed this one in particular, enough to give me that coveted title of "Poet."  You know, I really did enjoy reading your more recent poem in Open, and plan on keeping my eye out for more in the near future.  You're quite the poet yourself!

JM:  You know, whenever I use seasonal imagery, I have you in mind, and I'm glad that you put the last stanza among your chosen few, because it's one that I wrote in particular hoping that it would meet your standard of seasonal interpretation.  I tried to follow the hair colour of the girl in the poem (who, I might add, did have her hair dyed green at the time of the events in the poem, and whose hair has since gone from dyed red to her natural brown), and it means a lot to me that it should merit your praise.  

Also, I have to say that you and Balladeer are both right.  Many stanzas here honestly had me stumped, and it took me a while to figure out precisely how to say what I meant to say (especially the stanza of her sitting in the grass, an image I really wanted but could barely manage, and one that Carly wants me to work on).  On the other hand, the majority of the lines in this poem were written and revised in my brain throughout the day, and eagerly scribbled onto several pieces of paper before I could make them into a poem.  I also have a few of the "scraps" that didn't make the cut for having too difficult of rhymes for this stanza.

Again, thank you so much for reading, JM.  Yours means a lot to me.

Enchantress:  That really does mean a lot to me, considering you've got such a vast post history here at piptalk.   I appreciate very much your compliments.

Littlewing:  I haven't read a reply from you in ages (or a poem, for that matter, but I will right after I post this).  It's wonderful to hear from you again, and I wish we were still in touch through instant message programs or something like that... I miss chatting with you about every little thing.

I guess you also figured I was writing allegorically, right?  I still come across that way, I guess, even if I am trying to write from experience.  Carly interpreted me the same way as you did, but I tried to avoid that confusion by pluralizing Muses and addressing them later by taking the girl in the poem as specimen, or evidence, of what had once been the home of the muses.  I did mean to give her a kind of goddess-like quality, and she is (of course) a source of inspiration for me.  Maybe I should work on the human element of this poem more, so that it's more clear.

I know, on the other hand, that you love pluralism of interpretation, and you would probably prefer that I leave this vague enough that you can interpret from it as you please, correct?  I might do that as well, because I think I like this less-intended, though profound, interpretation you've given---if there is any duality between the girl in the poem and the Muses themselves, it comes from the fact that I modelled this poem on a variety of literary conventions and did not make any formal innovations of my own, so that in a way I was guided by convention.

I was honestly going for more of Plato, Coleridge and Wordsworth than Freud, Whitman, or Joyce, but it still means a lot to me that I should bring those names to mind.  Anything I can do to help the cause of higher learning, my lady!

Serenity:  I was secretly hoping that you would read this poem, because I tried to utilize the spiritual, pre-Christian paganism of the Arcadian pastoral in a less Christian but more literary fashion, and you are my best authority.  That one stanza you picked out is something I'm very glad has found your approval, and I am happy that you have spared me your "accolades" as I am rather spoiled as it is when it comes to the response I've gotten to this poem.  Thank you so much for reading... it's wonderful to hear that I can still impress the likes of you.

Iliana:  I'm so glad that you enjoyed this enough to put it into your personal library.  It means a lot to me.  Thank you very much.

Everyone, I don't know who spread the word about this, but it was a wonderful surprise for this old PIP veteran to be read by so many old friends.  If ever I had forgotten that this place is a home to me, my doubts have been cleared and my appreciation and gratitude for all of you renewed.  I will try to be less of a ghost around here, and repay the favour by giving audience to all of your writing in return.  Again, thank you from the bottom of my heart, you wonderful people!  

Brian


"God becomes as we are that we may be as he is."  ~William Blake
Alicat
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since 05-23-99
Posts 4277
Coastal Texas


17 posted 04-29-2005 10:28 AM       View Profile for Alicat   Email Alicat   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Alicat

Nonono, I wasn't using your Critique Message as a means of self-censorship.  I was merely blown away by the calibre of writing.  I'm a sucker for odic/lyric poetry.
quote:
By the way, are you referring to my choice of stanza in particular when you say "forms easily consumed and devoured by rapturous orisons enamored?"

Paraphrased Shakespeare: In thy orison's delight be all my sins remembered. (Hamlet)  Orison is another word for eye.  So in plainspeak, all I said was the form and format of the entire work made it very easy for a hungry eye to eat it up and love every morsel.  In short, a high compliment.
Local Parasite
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since 11-05-2001
Posts 2929
Transylconia, Winnipeg


18 posted 04-29-2005 11:00 AM       View Profile for Local Parasite   Email Local Parasite   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Local Parasite's Home Page   View IP for Local Parasite

Oh.  You terribly educated person, you!  I thought you meant that most people get so caught up in religious or metaphysical subject matter that they forget the imagery with this stanza.
Janet Marie
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since 01-22-2000
Posts 18986


19 posted 04-29-2005 11:12 AM       View Profile for Janet Marie   Email Janet Marie   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Janet Marie

So chanced it, as I walked the jagged ways
Through all the mazy, blasphemous design
Of what is called Utopia, my gaze
Searching the passing crowds, line upon line,
Column on column, monument and mind,
I saw her waiting for me, back reclined,
Facing away, her hands upon the grass,
Her legs crossed comfortably, well-aligned
Her hair, though it was windy, smooth as glass,
And dyed, by fancy, as it were, to match the grass.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now as I saw her, though myself yet hidden
Behind the noisy clamour of the crowd
Her sacred "yes" assaulted me unbidden,
Confronting me. I called her name aloud,
Uncommon, sweet to hear: Her emerald shroud
She stirred to one side, and her pale green eyes
Invited me, as sunlight through a cloud
Nurtures the faithless flowers with its wise
Presiding warmth, that they its splendour recognize.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I promised myself to come back to this when I had more time...
(you know me and my mothy attempts at poetic self restraint)    

I loved those verses as well...for all their symbolism encompasses but most of all for the poetic phrasing, vocabulary choices and word play...and for the way they read aloud... the whole read is melodicly outstanding. And yes...the imagery and seasonal/nature references were what I really connected to, those last 3 verses created so many lovely images..and again, the rhyme speak and cadence are just so impressive...

I think this verse is truly poetic gold...

I know now, Muses, what it is that moves
The fingers of the flutist on the plain,
That teaches the illiterate maid to love
And animates the shepherd's pastoral strain,
That soothes the clouded flowers with gentle rain,
Incites rich men unworldly things to seek,
And Eden's pleasure secretly sustains:
Arcadia, that calms her semblance meek;
Arcadia, the dampness resting on her cheek.


~~~~~~~~~~
How amazingly lovely is your turn of phrase and assonance...
that verse is far more brilliant than a mere moth could define and do justice...

The repetative of Arcadia and the Eden reference is poetic brilliance...
Ya had me from the title on.    

Im not sure if there was a "spread the word"....me thinks we are just instinctively drawn to such divine rhymes.    

Balladeer
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since 06-05-99
Posts 26302
Ft. Lauderdale, Fl USA


20 posted 04-29-2005 01:11 PM       View Profile for Balladeer   Email Balladeer   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Balladeer's Home Page   View IP for Balladeer

Rest now, mine eyes, to see another day
The wonders of the life i've come to know
The beauties of the world in full display
Another time, perhaps, before I go

This day I've had the pleasured chance to see
The face of beauty there before my eyes
Alive and well in words of poetry
Designed to stimulate and mesmerize.

Though soon my face will lose its rosy glow
As pressures of a new day come to bear
With giant slaps from some demonic foe
Who slips out silent from his hidden lair
Right now my mind in peace and quiet lay
Arcadia became my world today.

As eyes traversed the stanzas, line by line,
Along with reader, writer I became
And felt the feelings he had felt were mine
As though his thoughts and my thoughts were the same.

The sinews of my arm were mildly taut
As I held pen above the virgin page
Then dipped to scribble down some random thought
Considered worthy of a humble sage.

Thoughts in, thoughts out, my mind on  frenzied pace
Words penned, erased, then penned in other ways.
Frustration deep etched on determined face
Aware this is the price a poet pays.
Then one last word and, finally, the birth
To what one hoped would prove poetic worth.

The reader in me marveled at the lines.
The writer in me marveled at the skill
The poet in me smiled at the designs
Incorporated, seeemingly, at will.

Arcadia was a place that I could touch
A sanctuary for a poet's heart
A friend to lean on when I need a crutch
A kind reminder poetry is art.

For those whose admiration leans toward
A man who takes his time to do his best
This work is worthy of your top reward
Bypassing any critic's harshest test.
I'm glad to have this opportunity
To see the very best in poetry.
Mysteria
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Member Laureate
since 03-07-2001
Posts 19652
British Columbia, Canada


21 posted 04-30-2005 12:14 PM       View Profile for Mysteria   Email Mysteria   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Mysteria

It sure does a craving poetic heart good to wake up to these wonderful comments returned in kind, to one of the finest poets I think I have ever read.  Brian, I sincerely hope this talent makes it into book form so that your work can be read for years to come.
Local Parasite
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since 11-05-2001
Posts 2929
Transylconia, Winnipeg


22 posted 05-04-2005 03:52 AM       View Profile for Local Parasite   Email Local Parasite   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Local Parasite's Home Page   View IP for Local Parasite

Balladeer!  I think you've got it, right here:
quote:
Thoughts in, thoughts out, my mind on  frenzied pace
Words penned, erased, then penned in other ways.
Frustration deep etched on determined face
Aware this is the price a poet pays.
Then one last word and, finally, the birth
To what one hoped would prove poetic worth.
This is exactly how I feel when writing poetry, but I love how heroic you make it seem.  But oh, what doesn't seem more noble in iambs?  

Perhaps the critics test me:  if they do,
  I'll see no wrong that I had not admitted:
  They point them out, as if they're crimes committed,
Though each is, sooth, a nod to failure.  True,
I could have used free form, for something new,
  So that my words more easily be fitted,
  Instead of inconsistencies admitted
And my resolve by meter be subdued.
But when another metrist sees my toil,
  Has fought the fight, and shaped verse of his own,
    I find more value in his sage approval
Than any critic's prudishness could soil:
  These are no feet, but sinew, blood and bone;
    The soul too frail to suffer their removal.


"God becomes as we are that we may be as he is."  ~William Blake
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