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Critique this!! ;)
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the hippodrome
i survey my surroundings and consider
at length
carefully
prudently
whether i want my youngest child to be
eviscerated by
critics, perchance to earn adulation instead of eternal damnation
a spartan she is not... she is rather synomynous to a nightingale or a raven
one cooes forlornly in bittersweet lays
as its companion struts about like a corporal or emits its
raspy tin voice in a haughty manner.
i would like my child to be moist and vivacious like a masterpiece
of confectioner's art or a low-budget doggerel for television
if it turns sour and dour i will call it stale bread and discard it
this is the portion praised by all the uninitiated
the ones who cannot fathom this
that poesy is not a thing on
crumbling parchment but an agile undercurrent
maroon purple gold azure
rippling beneath the matrix
so she steps forward
once
twice
thrice
and encounters the gorgons and lemurs of public opinion
contorting their grimacing mugs at her
some meaning well
some scenting prey
she dodges myriad blows some well-aimed some haphazard
like untalented pugilists' roundhouse punches against that ninjitsu whiz who
will
not
be moved by anyone or anything simply
standing
crossing his arms and
shaking his head
perhaps smiling faintly as yet another blockheaded simpleton expects sheer force
and unadulterated violence of action
to reign supreme over intuition and visceral instinct and keen intellect
if indeed he possesses these in ample measure
i can compose bollywood songs all saffron and scarlet frills and whistles
and copper bells tolling and tinkling and booming as flutes
harmonize with some lad and lady's vocalizations
as a sacred cow moos its undeniable pleasure in
these
royal festivities
i can choreograph anything
make the stars align in precise constellations so that gps will map my neurons
as they are carved into the firmament in platinum-bluish streaks
and fanfares resound as i break the Milk Carton Seal
but will my interior dynamics and machinations suffice
to appease the drivel inquisition
which has no alpha and omega and
whose gods flawed though they most assuredly are
still scale thrones of judgment whenever
i small i
dare to make a peep?
i survey my surroundings and consider
at length
carefully
prudently
whether i want my youngest child to be
eviscerated by
critics, perchance to earn adulation instead of eternal damnation
a spartan she is not... she is rather synomynous to a nightingale or a raven
one cooes forlornly in bittersweet lays
as its companion struts about like a corporal or emits its
raspy tin voice in a haughty manner.
i would like my child to be moist and vivacious like a masterpiece
of confectioner's art or a low-budget doggerel for television
if it turns sour and dour i will call it stale bread and discard it
this is the portion praised by all the uninitiated
the ones who cannot fathom this
that poesy is not a thing on
crumbling parchment but an agile undercurrent
maroon purple gold azure
rippling beneath the matrix
so she steps forward
once
twice
thrice
and encounters the gorgons and lemurs of public opinion
contorting their grimacing mugs at her
some meaning well
some scenting prey
she dodges myriad blows some well-aimed some haphazard
like untalented pugilists' roundhouse punches against that ninjitsu whiz who
will
not
be moved by anyone or anything simply
standing
crossing his arms and
shaking his head
perhaps smiling faintly as yet another blockheaded simpleton expects sheer force
and unadulterated violence of action
to reign supreme over intuition and visceral instinct and keen intellect
if indeed he possesses these in ample measure
i can compose bollywood songs all saffron and scarlet frills and whistles
and copper bells tolling and tinkling and booming as flutes
harmonize with some lad and lady's vocalizations
as a sacred cow moos its undeniable pleasure in
these
royal festivities
i can choreograph anything
make the stars align in precise constellations so that gps will map my neurons
as they are carved into the firmament in platinum-bluish streaks
and fanfares resound as i break the Milk Carton Seal
but will my interior dynamics and machinations suffice
to appease the drivel inquisition
which has no alpha and omega and
whose gods flawed though they most assuredly are
still scale thrones of judgment whenever
i small i
dare to make a peep?