| re: Mourning Would | |
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Posted by: |
Vin 07:04 am UTC 04/10/09 |
| In reply to: | re: Mourning Would - Pudding 02:18 am UTC 04/10/09 |
| Yeah, its mine. I wouldn't say its *about* death, exactly, though surely death plays a prominent role here. I don't read any current poets, or many non-current ones, either. The current poems I do stumble across tend to leave me cold. A lot of bland, blank verse bullshit, it seems. (But them, obviously its all very subjective, isn't it?) Blank, blank, blank. Doesn't anybody rhyme anymore??? Most of what I've read is what they fed me in school, really. I was trying to mix an old school poetic diction with a contemporary scenario. *I* like it, but I'm not sure it really works, recognizing that I'm biased. I agree that its a bit jumbled, and I do freely use antique or wholly made-up words that sound like real words in my poems, pretty much for my own amusement, but only if I think they make sense in context. Thanks for the feedback. > It doesn't do much for me and I've read quite a few > funeral/mourning/death type poems recently :o( > > Did you write this? Seems whoever did was trying too hard > to try and be different to all the other poems about death > that's out there. And it's a bit jumbled, with words that > aren't really used in everyday vocabullary thrown in for > good measure. > > > A poem. Good or rubbish? Please advise. Thank you. > > > > > > "Mourning Would" > > > > Mourning would become me, > > if Death did not become you so. > > And weeping might console me > > if consoling I did need. > > But mightn’t tears be finite, > > yes, in limited supply, > > and wiser saved for darker days > > and those in direr need? > > > > Nay, I shall hold my tears, I think, > > for they’d fall futile, surely, if at all; > > for what sadness is there known to Man > > by Nature or Artifice devised, > > by God or gods or Happenstance contrived, > > that hath any hope to long withstand > > such beautiful and bountiful bouquets, > > assembled here in grand panoply? > > The overwhelming wave of color and scent > > washing roughshod, never subtle, > > o’er such petty, salty, brazen tears > > as dare to have their way, > > to claim this duchy as their own > > and over every courtier hold sway. > > “Hark, alack! There lies a body, > > so weep us, weep us hard!”, they’ll say. > > But ‘tis not to be, recreant tears, > > not for me, and truly not today. > > > > And waiting might offend me, > > if a weight had not been lifted thus; > > this lengthy line might bore me > > if it moved with lesser haste. > > But the gathered horde converses > > -hear!- > > some laugh through whispered guilt, > > foreshadowing the evening once this Glooming Hour abates. > > > > And this body, yours, so statue still… > > Would that your stillness were some grave affront > > to sense and sensibility, and thus > > no assault on conscience, however slight. > > Would that the silent song your lips now sing > > fell harsher on the ears, would that it leaned > > further to the realm of Cacophony > > than to that of her comely sister. > > > > ‘Tis de rigeur, this Mortis, > > pedestrian in all ways save one, > > and that the most literal. > > (And, had you your say, > > the most important, I surmise, > > this irony not lost on me, > > as you are not.) > > > > And mourning black is easier on the eyes > > than many a bright pastel, > > and slimming, too; > > enhances nuance, missed before, > > of the bleating, misty, doe-eyed girls > > -all hair and make-up and awkward heels, > > fragile feelings and careless tattoos- > > whose common cause from two to four is grieving, > > fleeting and soon forgot. > > Only grieving you. > > > > > > | |
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