This Poem was Submitted By: Regis L Chapman On Date: 2009-01-18 00:57:56 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Regard

celebrate the death of the one you mourned serve the ones who always scorn, you change within to kneel at their feet humility is yours to hold onto since you were born and still you have refused it, clothing shorn naked at the wind, and destined to repeat today is the day, moreover now is the time no way to stay away, dreaming alone along lines symbols and signs, intuition never mind on this street designed to steer all protests to your fellow crime binary regarding in the input of sensual mind a mass of stimulus like the rat's deceit behave, behavior, have trapped me in rhymes with science defiance of what is sublime I cry, I cry, I ponder why I have taken again a treat trapped in this form of writing a big decision remains what sort of lunch meat, to eat, capital gains I sigh................................................... in defeat regarding this emotional flow, a dream, a drain caged in and enemies surround my brain a badger in flight is not too discrete or discriminating about the what and forms and names that bind us, that find us emptied lusting for games simple enemies outside to defeat, delete, deplete for a power which was never possessed, love power is a side effect of feeling inspired from above no need for a doom awaiting in a subterranean hot seat regarding this poor polarization, escaped

Copyright © January 2009 Regis L Chapman

Additional Notes:
Humility still comes hard.


This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Steven Scheffer On Date: 2009-02-05 13:28:55
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Regis, I love to see this foray into rhyme and a more formal structure from you. I told you that form must come from within you and grow out into your poetry. What is within you is the seed. Seed needs soil to grow things - that would be the tools of the poetry trade, rhyme, meter, figures of speech, imagery, etc. A lot of things go into making good soil, a lot of giving from things that went before. Your "soil" will be the tools of the trade and you get those tools from the poets who were before you; you should really think of them as your soil. Unfortunately you can't just buy a bag, put in your seed, and start growing wonderful poems. You have to work through the soil. If you think I write ok, and can serve as a model, I'll use myself as an example. When I started getting serious about writing poetry, about when I started posting here almost 9 years ago now, I was learning how to write iambic pentameter by working through Shakespeare's Sonnets. Helen Vendler has a fantastic edition with her great insights as to formal and rhetorical structure. Stephen Booth has a great edition with his insight into Shakespearean punning and word play. The Arden edition, edited by Katherine Duncan-Jones, is wonderfully typeset and a great primary source with explanatory notes on the opposite page as to difficult words, allusions, etc. I'd read the sonnet in the Arden edition and then Vendler and then Booth - sonnet by sonnet by sonnet. And I wrote tons of sonnets until I had fairly absorbed the Shakespearean way. And then I went on to other poets I admire, and essentially live with their work. This is no shortcut to getting the soil for your seed. So I am thrilled to see you "go formal." You won't need to stay "formal." But you may find it congenial. In any event, when you find your style and voice somewhere along this road, you will have an abundance of soil at hand to grow your poetry, and you will be inside the formal pyrotechnics that seem so outside to you now. And you will begin to own them, and find them as natural to you as, well . . . the soil of earth. But there's no easy way, no magic formula. It's great to see you grappling with "form."Some nice stuff, here, too. MSS


This Poem was Critiqued By: Lora Silvey On Date: 2009-01-21 21:28:39
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Ah, and yes it is a definite must (humility)if one intends to continue to grow....time for meditation....time for seperation...clarification...all comes when intended...good poem. Lora
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