usaforklift asked in Arts & HumanitiesPoetry · 1 decade ago

I've lost my audience. No one comes for tea with me any more. What can i say? What can I do?

natural man

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

Update:

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.

2 Answers

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  • 1 decade ago
    Favorite 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.?

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