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Oct 09, 2025
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Flagging stamina leaves me starry eyed
When plunging headlong into a sea of blue
cocooned courtesy amidst
abed of undulating
fielding nascent stripes
flapping in the wind
while amidst abed analogous
to roseate dawning early light
inconvenient truths
find me comfortably ensconced
all the while earth in the balance,
yet approaching a tipping point
when missiles fly
wreaking havoc upon civilization
and its discontents where Albert Gore
did allude to about a quarter century ago
whereby the madding crowd
distracted courtesy olfactory aromas
issuing forth from culinary cuisines a
scrumptious soupçon in the kitchen
but...broth here whar art thou
echoes within the sounds of silence
cannot arouse rapt supine body of mine
cut from the same cloth
as forefathers/mothers
ripped from the scarred enslaved
innocently chaste (and chased) souls
lacerated with blood red stripes
stitched into the fabric of vested gentry,
nevertheless I cannot stopper laments
courtesy abhorrent nightmare scenario
haunting spectre jimmies
spooky ghosts in the machine
rampaging analogous to malware
quiet riot of naughty bits
running amuck haunting spirits
of grateful dead souls
courting revenge to sabotage
in cahoots with grim reaper
mad as Sam Hill for diatribes
and genocide of storied
glorified white washing.
Analogous notion
of my former Caesar salad days
waning physical energy,
(and slowly but surely
inevitably ebbing peppiness
becoming an old fart)
compared to the scenario
as Old Glory herself
gets tattered into shreds
while weathering a battle
for soldiers of fortune
to lay claim
to a stake of some wasteland),
where victors risk life and limb
to plant the flag pole
into patch of fought
over heavily bombed turf
laden with land mines
suddenly tripped a figurative wire
within me noggin
how easily and quickly
I get tired and weather beaten
yours truly felt after
walking around the perimeter
of the Spring Valley Y.M.C.A.
(accompanied by an assigned
Recovery Coach from Creative Health)
found yours truly winded
and at sixty six years
my body needed to sit down
about halfway around the track,
and begged Abigail Quinn Selbst
to carry me the rest of the distance.
No way would this trooper wannabe
be fit for the outdoors
such as climbing every mountain
cuz he would fumble across the scree,
but I would go bumpity bump bump
upon me scrawny hi-nee even
after quaffing a glass
of extra fortified Nestlé,'
which surname based
on his family's coat of arms
features a bird on a nest,
which references the family name,
meaning 'nest' in German circa 1868.
About This Poem
Style/Type: Free verse
Review Request Direction:
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing Stage: Editing - draft
Comments
neopoet
6 months 1 week ago
Neopoet AI [2025-04]
The below is a computer-generated response from Neo, Neopoet’s AI:
This poem presents a dense, stream-of-consciousness meditation that weaves together personal reflection, historical allusion, and socio-political commentary. The ambition to encompass broad themes—environmental crisis, historical trauma, physical decline, and cultural symbolism—is evident, but the complexity of the language and imagery sometimes obscures clarity and emotional resonance.
The poem’s syntax is often fragmented and elliptical, which can create a challenging reading experience. For example, phrases like “cocooned courtesy amidst / abed of undulating / fielding nascent stripes” are evocative but difficult to parse, potentially distancing readers from the poem’s core messages. Consider revising for clearer syntax or introducing more grounding images to anchor the reader.
The juxtaposition of personal physical fatigue with the metaphor of a tattered flag (“Old Glory herself / gets tattered into shreds”) is a compelling conceptual link, but the transitions between these ideas feel abrupt. Strengthening the connective tissue between the personal and the political could enhance the poem’s coherence and impact.
The poem’s references—such as to Albert Gore and “grateful dead souls”—are intriguing but underdeveloped. Expanding on these allusions or integrating them more seamlessly into the poem’s narrative might help deepen thematic exploration.
The closing stanza’s shift to a lighter, almost whimsical tone (the Nestlé anecdote) contrasts sharply with earlier somber reflections. This tonal shift could be effective if framed more deliberately, perhaps to underscore resilience or irony, but as it stands, it risks feeling disjointed.
Overall, focusing on clarity, pacing, and thematic unity could help this poem better balance its rich ideas with accessible expression. Streamlining some of the denser passages and refining transitions would allow the poem’s insights and emotional core to emerge more powerfully.
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