A poem I wrote. Thoughts and criticisms appreciated!?

Question

I’m driving home highlands at midnight and
Ferlinghetti’s playing on tape
talking Ezra Pound and baseball and infinity
and it’s silent out
there’s a pause in the poetry and
I hear this infernal crack
like Satan’s bullwhip
and in the darkly sky
like a strange and divine x-ray
a ghostly colossus lighting bolt appears
only its not so much a bolt
as a sort of spit (Satan’s spit)

this great bony arm is lying on its side
maybe even like a clothesline
and all the withering heathens
slung over like undergarments
and I look up
I don’t say anything
I don’t think anything
I just look

first drops drip now like messengers of wartime
and it pours
as if all the bathwater of Babylon
had been thrown overboard
and I think I’m gonna die

so I roll the windows down
and I bellow
and I think about God
and the rain bellows back
soaking me in judgment
(the road is gone now)

I see lights flicker here and there
red, white
like angels and demons roaming the land
in game or conflict
but it’s only cars and
they’re moving like vagrants in Paris
and they’re blindfolded

so I pull over
to the side of the non road
and I stop

and I sit back and I think and I stare

it’s a long time gone
and the rain against the windshield
looks like the colors of the world are melting

and then the rain stops

the clouds stop and the wind stops

and it all stops

even the mist settles like a fishing net
drifting down to ocean depths

and the world stops

and I look at the sky
and the moon is just sitting there
like an opal on some dark velvet jewelers display
my eyes drift lazy down each star
as if by rope ladder, down further down
and I’m painting pictures of vision and demigods
I see the dashboard now
I’m out of gas
and there’s faces in the wind

Additional Details

Actually, Jack, this was a true experience. I'm not a religious person, or at least I don't subscribe to any religion, but I'm open to it.

I was driving home from a Church get together thing and it was weirdly quiet out sorta prestormy. I did have Ferlinghetti playing and the poem I described there in my own poem is called Baseball Canto.

And all of what follows did occur. I will admit tho, it wasn't highlands at midnight. It was pretty flat and maybe 9:30. :/

Although I was on the highway. :)

That's not to say I don't add a little embellishment tho.

Answer 1

Best Answer - Chosen by Asker

I only have one complaint - is this an authentic experience? Did you actually live through it? Kerouac wrote about that which he saw and observed. That's the trick with Beat poetry, and any other style of poetry, for that matter. If it isn't authentic (meaning it didn't really happen to the writer) then the poem loses its excitement and its connection with the reader.

With that said, the poem was great. But like I said, it does feel like there is some kind of disconnect between myself and the poem.

Thanks for sharing.

[Edit]- Then I apologize, as well as applaud this work. I didn't mean to sound so...forward. It is well written in my opinion.

Asker's Rating:

Asker's Comment:

Never feel like you have to hold back any criticisms because that's really what I'm looking for! It is my responsibility to react in my own work to match the criticisms of others as I see fit.

I always appreciate your thoughts on my work, and the fact that you take such care to write them down.

Answer 2

Beautiful Poem!! <3

Answer 3

Its too long....

Answer 4

This rocks my socks,you freaken asome writer!!!!!!

Source(s):

Im a writer 2 and I hang out with other people who write as while. I know good work when I see it.

Answer 5

thats fantastic, i got goosebumps from reading it, and that really never happens to me. i'm tempted to copy and save it to read it again, but i'm not going to steal what you made! well done, its great Xx

Answer 6

ehh, its okay...a little wierd thoughh.

Answer 7

it sounds dark but i'm not really into poetry can you explain this to me..
email me [e-mail]

Source(s):

timfuktu

Answer 8

Far before you go into
Writing complex poetry
One must start with simple paths
And here is one from me:
Poetry is a glorious thing
Through such make happy times
But every poet's first simple steps
Should be through simple rhymes
Thou shalt not make false poetry
Thou shalt not make it fun
Until thou takest baby steps
And walk before you run

Answer 9

and the faces in the wind
are screaming banshee-like
furious as hurricane Katrina's
unrequited love
for a soulless god
a forlorn last look back
rewinded time sifts into overdrive
casting shadows on the future
as it tries to escape past
and there's a signpost up ahead
reads
Dead End

Source(s):

I really dig your work and I will always want some more
give it to me
cool. groovy.

Answer 10

A good piece of work here. Quite long, but I was interested enough to keep reading and to finish it. Like your style