I've lost my audience. No one comes for tea with me any more. What can i say? What can I do?
dancing on the head of a pin
aren’t we all, after all?
dancing on the head of a flea
after all, aren’t we?
diving headlong into obscurity
shedding our meaning like layers of our skin
we only know the moment or
much worse, confuse it with our destiny
dying without trying is our plight
burning like a meteor in the night
from an unknown source to an unnamed home
gathering sparklers along our burning shell
fly fly alone a true and steady course
the eyes of gravity and mass gaze upon you
somewhere in your heavy metal heart
lies a cryptic chemical prescription
intelligence jumps like a static charge
upon a finely polished teeming metal rod
it leaps the barriers between the inorganic
and the carbon-based entities we call human
the bridge lies within our logic
and the divine is like a tiny night light lit
sweeping truth like a wave
unrecognized or taken for granted
and be all this as it may be
i feel compelled to surmise
that through my research and heart-felt reflection
my final conclusions and
my soul-swept inspiration
could very well be wrong
in the final measure
and so i stand one day of late in winter
i gaze up into the cold and crisply sparkling deep night sky
standing shivering in slipper and pajamas
fortified by my little coffee
and seeking something that i do not know
Al Sepert. Thanks for your comment, but I want to ask you: are you implying you want perfect rhyme and meter throughout the poem? When I do that, people say, "Oh it hurts my ears". I say, each poem dictates itself. I am continually amazed at this effort to share through poetry. I will ponder you comments; they will wisp in and out of my mind. They may cause me to change. At this particular moment, I am critiquing your critique. I placed a carefully thoughout writing before you, and you returned me a chat board quip. I can't buy it. Sorry.
- 1 decade agoFavorite Answer
Rhyme doesn't matter. Meter doesn't matter. No one's trying to be Shakespeare, are they? This is good. Forge your own way. Your similes/metaphors are good and well-timed. I think that most of us will see that we were wrong all along while Earth spins away from us on our deathbed. Or maybe we'll find that we were right. These are the things that compel us to write, and we should cherish them...unanswered, and out of meter. Cheers!
- 1 decade ago
Rhythm Metre, Rhyme, wherefore art they.?