These scrawls don't prompt Yeats' ghost to rhyme,
Nor Cayce's to prophesy,
Nor Houdini's to slip Life's last great knot
And whisper from Shadow the All-In-All.
I envy those whose rattledy-words
And cracked-splinter thought ends,
Tumble-a-tossed bones-in-bone,
Flash down all a-thunder,
Whirl-a-bounce,
Skitter,
And
Stop
In measured lines of flame.
Author notes
Falstaff~Option #10
A contest entry
- Prompts; by Hell In Harmony.
2200 points, ended November 18, 2008, 30 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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Interesting form here
haven't really seen many like it
so it kind of threw me off.
doesn't mean its bad, just..
I don't know how to explain-
not what I was looking for I guess
keep writing though
you have your own things going here.
thanks. -
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You see It!
Dear HIH,
Thanks for the commentary. Sorry I've taken so long to reply...running battles with Social Security, lawyers, etc. etc. and snowed in over Christmas--- in Seattle!
You see what I've been playing with. Rather than adhering to a prescribed form (an excellent discipline of itself), I have been working with form driven by the expressive rhythm of the language. Not necessarily successful...but it's always intriguing and sometimes amazingly silly.
Falstaff -
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No worries. Originality is what takes people places!
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