--Elite Writer Alias: Mwa Ha Ha Ha Ha Name: Travis Rickett ASL: 19/m/Washington Bio: [ Quick Bio ] Website:[ Education ] Days Away: 1921 Life Story: [ Ignore User ]
Favorites: 44 Forum Posts: 3 Shoutbox Posts: 18 RP Posts: 0 Signup Date: 5619 D 15.39 Years 1.54 Decades 187.3 Months 802.71 Weeks 5.619000e+8 Heart Beats -There you go eggman Quote: Depression is an STD of the world...kinda like herpes.
One night, below a starry fright
a whimsical poet heartedly writes,
fighting his imagination; what might
he say? Who may he help? What are his mights?
This is that "right" poet stereotype if you will. People, poets, who say: "I want to help others." Things like that... It seems that you cannot write to write, you cannot just want to express yourself beautifully. You must aspire to be a poet by aspiring to be published. The more you're published, the more of a poet you really are in other terms. I don't personally agree with that, but it seems to be the mainstream poet vogue which is scary. Like you said, a poet should write to splay his heart on papers without worry for the outside world, for outside thoughts. Does that then mean he has no goal? That would then mean he, by society's standards.. By humanity's standards nowadays, that he lacks the will to move forward in life, to "ACCOMPLISH" something. (Here, accomplishing something would be being published, helping others, criticizing political opinions and such.. which is where you see the hole. The modern poet must accomplish something, whilst still not caring to do just that.) Do you see where I am going with this?
The pathetic altruism he seeks
lays under covers - where lovers -
protect modern survival. Political theories
unwind into poetical satires - of
Here I begin my criticism of said poet, "pathetic" altruism.. The altruism in this case would be that aspiration of his, though it is pathetic because it contradicts the nature of his employment if you will. It's like a sophist - not a knower a knowledge, merely one who seems to know things. He lays under covers is basically saying.. he's hiding (yes, from bloodying his hands, getting dirty) - and one could go as far as calling his poetry the drapes under which he hides.. The lovers mention was a little play on the thought, proginators impinging on the poets again.. Things like "natural" instincts. Why is so much poetry limited to sex, lust and love? The line after that was just something I found to be funny in my mind.. But people put so much thought and their lives into political theories, the prominent ones take current and are deployed as the current "saviour" government if you will.. Then two generations later.. Poets banter with these monumental notions and turn them into the enemy, into evil.. Because of what? Because it is their poetic duty - it's a part of a cycle, society needs to change to please the current crowd. Only, the government always comes into play too late.. I find it sad that in society, the poet's role is to dig the ditches, clear out the old [censored] to leave the stage bare for a new character.
The martyr of truth is really just
another blasphemous casualty of
reality's backwash: the waves
of motivation behind human dulcoration.
Here I play again .. Poetical satires - of, the of here could either be ignored or taken as a description, a digression about these poetical satires.. (It's a double sense, because I'm attacking the "martyr" of truth in this piece, the poet.. har har.. but anyway..) or it could be ignored. I am talking basically in this strophe more about the poet's "duty" in the cycle of society.. and blah blah... I'm getting bored of myself =P.
One life means nothing in the wake
of genocides, one need, nothing preceding
compulsory dandies. That is
the poet's truth, for he writes to remain
This is pure sarcasm, at first, because I am preluding to the poet's truth, innuendo saying it's utterly upside down. I hope it is implied at least, by the backwardness of the truth. The poet's truth is backwards, he doesn't write to make a mark.. to change the political arena around.. all that blah blah.. that's bull[censored]. He writes for himself, for his heart's whims... to remain "mute" in the face of society, thanks to his cathartic poetry. That is the meaning of the piece...