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Ode on Structure
| Critical Analysis #2 |
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Ode on Structure |
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Astro Member
since 2003-01-08
Posts 69Ca. |
Ode on Structure Inside the collapsed heap of brick, Beside these separated parts Placed in skewed arrangements -- collage Encased in a cage of red brick, Soft moans lift like ghosts of curling smoke, Scoffed and bruised by Gravity’s abuse, And, upon settling to scattered Sand, acquiesce to fade like spent smoke. Silence nestles until hunger Hints at the emptiness within --Without. Angry rumblings stutter, Shout! with such ferocious hunger. Silent as a blue-jays nest at night Now rent with squawking at dawn’s delight --Drums that roll in remembrance of sight Some voiceless soldiers saw in the night. Gossamery solace, these marred Memories provide. Of substance, Sustenance, there is naught but lives Lanced -- flesh irreparably marred; Flesh, that, even now in marbled green Mesh, is fetid and reeks of decay, Does seem animate still, with bitter Buzz; the din of dimness, glowing green. Those remnant survivors writhe with Woes of both body and soul, trapped Tangled, entwined with the mauled, Mangled dead and mortar joined with. Concrete accomplishments lie fallen, Faux feat of Atlantean forte, Financial planning, doctors, suites of Substantial penthouse people -- fallen. By that cinder, those splintered blocks, Bisected by torso in twain, Toddler pieces grasp the steel once Soldered into pink playtime blocks. Pink cheeks are turning pale, like lifeless Links of gray chain. The spectre of hope, Haughty in fleeting, trails stench – a black Body that is bloated and lifeless. Sounding from the lush black, pulsing, Pounding periodically like Lazy heartbeats, a haunting and Hazy thing is forming – pulsing. Pebbles crumble down like retreating Rebels, falling back from the front lines, Lichen pushed back by the blue tide; some Stricken rock from the shore retreating. Blind for so long; the radiance Reminds that sight is an always Awful beginning, as children Coddle themselves in radiance Of a thousand fractured prisms. Light: Lovely proud strands of sweet-salted tears That pour forth for the fractured and the Flat, the cold of night and blinding light, Tears that are spent for the yawning Years and cold crimes committed in Cruel moments; tears that take joy in Jewels -- that wail for wounds still yawning. Iron caged bars snap open, ripped wide From their concrete enclosures outside The burning sirens wail with mouths wide. Inside, clovers line this massive grave. The bustle about masquerades As some passing thought, not as grave. Stacking bricks Collapsing bricks Removing bricks Sight is an always awful beginning |
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| © Copyright 2003 Luke Austin Donatello - All Rights Reserved | |||
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gourdmad Member
since 2003-12-01
Posts 136Upper Ohio Valley |
Truthfully, I didn't get it, and it seemed like too much work to puzzle out what you are getting at, besides the inevitability of cycle of impermanence. Since you emphasize a word each stanza, I am taking the liberty to nuzzle them out. brick, smoke. hunger. night. marred; green. with. fallen. blocks. lifeless. pulsing. retreating. radiance light, yawning. wide. grave. bricks dust to dust, ashes to ashes, brick to brick |
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Astro Member
since 2003-01-08
Posts 69Ca. |
yeah, thanks for taking the time to read it. I'm afraid it is a bit too wordy. I was experimenting with structure within a poem about the collapse of structure. You'll notice the rhyme scheme is at the beginning of each stanza instead of at the end. The meter alternates from 8 syllables per line, per stanza to 9 syllables per line, per stanza. I alliterated each line's last word with the first word of the following line. And you noticed the emphasis of the beginning with the end. I worked my tail off on this poem. It's frustrating that it's so inaccesable to the reader. Sight is an always awful beginning |
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gourdmad Member
since 2003-12-01
Posts 136Upper Ohio Valley |
To me, this sort of poem is for yourself. I didn't notice either the alliterations or the front end rhyming, but once pointed out appreciate them. If the poem was shorter, a lot shorter, maybe someone would catch that sort of thing, but when it is so long, and the content has to be so twisted to fit the form it becomes so obscure, I, for one, gave up on it. I did like the sequence of doubled words, obviously. I will post a poem that I also tripped out on, tho maybe not quite to this degree. My feelign is that stuff like this is like doing drills, or batting practice. It is good hard work that sharpens you for the game, but isn't the game itself. But if you only play games, your skills will progress slower than having practices that build skills. So it should be satisfying to yourself you were able to achieve a goal, and will help you find your own voice, but will probably remain inaccessible to the average reader. My effort of some similitude called "Red, White, and Green" I will post after this. |
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