It is not dust
that keeps my mind alert,
or rust:
It is the travel in the eyes of cats.
Or words I found hidden in corners
under beds,
or memories the milk jar sheds.
No. It's not dust or rust
that keeps my mind alert.
It is the books now closed.
It is the rooms now still.
It is the scrolls of music
spilled onto piano keys, not to be cleansed
by lemon juice and salt.
It is the babies grown. The dices thrown.
It is the golden crown
of thoughts, those bought with blood
and sweat and tears,
that takes me onwards to my Dream.
I shout my solitude
while dust falls
to stairs,
to arc ...
to tar.
It is not dust
that keeps my mind alert,
or rust:
It is the supple stretch I see in cats.
Or power found in screams that smile
that extra mile,
or peace in secret tears unshed.
No. It is not dust or rust
that keeps my mind alert.
It is wars in calmness posed.
It is force within own will.
It is the knowing of caustic
clearance to be dust, not to be rinsed
by shimmer or by gold.
It is the diaries writ. The routes quit.
It is the senseless guilt
not sought, those wrought from guts
and fights and snears,
that takes me onwards to my Dream.
I shout my solitude
while dust falls
to scars,
to stars ...
to Star.
In a list
A contest entry
- One by Nam.
425 points, ended October 6, 2007, 16 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 9 of 9
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I found this to have 3 distinct repetition patterns, and I felt the first one used was going to be overly done but it ceased near the beginning of the middle, then, you just used the other two entwined with each other.
The first use of repetition (repeating of sentences, variant to each other at times) just broke, it wasn't gradual when it broke, it was sudden. I felt it should have been gradual. Sudden sometimes is good if the repetition has served its purpose but then you have two other uses of repetition in this (rhyming, and same line repeats with different endings, which is different than repeating of sentences which are variant to each other), and I feel they should all be entwined together, even if one isn't in use. Perhaps what I am saying is nonsense to you, and I'm the only one seeing it? Usually is the case.
Other than that, I felt the story itself was gradual, and didn't seem forced, the rhyming either, especially in the repetition it was used in, most force such things, and never come back to correct it (if they even know it's incorrect.)
Overall: a good piece that you've written here, and if you understand what I'm stating about the repetition, it could use some work in such regard.
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Okay David ...
I rewrote it.
Thank you for your guidelines. Your talents are many.
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Thank you David.
For the time taken. I understand what you say. I will rework. Thank you for this contest -- it made me grow.
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Powerful images - a sense of a hardening reality of sorts... How humbling is this process called life.
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No matter the crit you may receive, here is a poem with a poem within in. In reading this poem the second time, I was able to 'write' my own with so much ease, that I wondered if some lines could not be left out [I do not suggest this, as it allows for fullness of heart - just another way to let you know that this is a magnificent poem]. With your permission I 'read you my peom':
It is not dust
or rust:
Or words I found hidden
or memories
that keeps my mind alert.
It is the books now closed.
It is the rooms now still.
It is the scrolls of music
It is the babies grown. The dices thrown.
It is the golden crown
of thoughts, those bought with blood
and sweat and tears,
that takes me onwards to my Dream.
It is the knowing to be dust
and rust
I shout my silence
while dust falls
to scars,
to stars ...
to Star.
Frans.
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Like a rollercoaster of words. I enjoyed the ride very much.
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Excellent
I thoroughly enjoyed reading this intelligent and beautifully phrased poem. Your language is fresh and original and a joy to behold!
Bill
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Good entry.
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