Morality: The pseudopoet. by Outlaw

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Submission Name: Morality: The pseudopoet. dots

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Author:	Outlaw
Elite Ratio:	8 - 333/197/127
Words:	126

Class/Type:	Poetry/Satire
Total Views:	169
Average Vote:	No vote yet.
Bytes:	842

Description:

Morality: The pseudopoet. dots

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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?

The pathetic altruism he seeks
lays under covers - where lovers -
protect modern survival. Political theories
unwind into poetical satires - of

The martyr of truth is really just
another blasphemous casualty of
reality's backwash: the waves
of motivation behind human dulcoration.

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
mute.

Submitted on 2007-11-06 20:44:29 Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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||| Comments |||
  Oh dear I enjoyed this poem a lot. It's so cynical yet clear and right to the point. It's almost a confession of the poet to himself that he isn't altruistic- that ultimately you write poetry, no matter how satirical and brilliant for yourself. This is really great.
| Posted on 2008-03-13 00:00:00 | by Ettenna Izus | [ Reply to This ]
  Why do you write?

From what I'm beginning to understand about this poem you say a poet writes so he may express himself without truly getting involved in all that accompanies a real, intelligent, and insightful opinion. By nature (at least according to my own personality) a poet isn't looking to argue, rather to express their heart, their thoughts, their feelings and not give a damn about someone else's opinion about them because the opinions and emotions are their own; they belong to the writer and not to a society willing to intertwine their own opinion to suit their ideas... and ease their own racing mind. Is that why you write? ha or have I missed the meaning completely?
| Posted on 2007-11-24 00:00:00 | by Mwa Ha Ha Ha Ha | [ Reply to This ]
  "The martyr of truth is really just
another blasphemous casualty of
reality's backwash: the waves
of motivation behind human dulcoration."

This stanza nuclear-explosioned me away. You integrate your vocabulary into your poem such that it never decays to the level of verbiage. I adore words like "dulcoration". This paragraph seems to state that the iconoclast is not an exception to the epoch, but a direct yet tangential product of it. The backwash occurs when the waves of the sea surge back to the sea down the sandy slope due to gravity. Likewise, when the desire for self-glorification and amendment recedes, then a poet is born as the harbinger of the end of his epoch.

"Political theories
unwind into poetical satires - of"

This line bamboozled me the most...it appears ungrammatical and disjointed.

Blessed are those that start an epoch, for they shall be evermore venerated and exemplified by the poets of that epoch. Those that end an epoch are just as colossal, however, if not in received acclamation then in their role. Even if they are neglected, or labeled mimickers, they are like the last florescent sigh of the dying bud, the last trembling whisper of the moribund wind.

You write that the true poet is dwarfed by those who write superfluously ("the dandies"). Mayhap this is true for the present, but the future has an uncanny way of pickling, preserving and rewarding merit, wheresoever it be found.

"what might
he say? Who may he help? What are his mights?"

I imagine that you have not answered all these questions in the poem. Perhaps the poem would be more cogent if you allocate a stanza to each question?

I've perused your other creations, and I'll critique them as soon as I salvage time.
| Posted on 2007-11-07 00:00:00 | by albery rinash | [ Reply to This ]
  for he writes to remain mute.
quite a stunning ending.

as i wasreading this i decided maybe i should have left my last comment on this piece instead. the two seem entwined.

your idea that one life is nothing in the wake of genocides makes me... something...
im not sure.
i was in the waiting rooms at the physio clinic yesterday and picked up a TIME magazine which had an article about rwanda. having been to africa and quite perhaps left my heart there i am magnetised to anything africa and this article was about the promise of rwanda after so much tragedy. it told the story of this one lady who had survived the killings because she had been hidden by one of the very people who had come to kill her. the rest of her family died though and when she told her story she brought all 5 translators to tears and the person conducting the interview took days to find out what it was she had said.
i think that life is sacred. that millions killed is horrid and horrific and i have no idea how it is that man can do such atrocious things to eachother but there is still value in one life. one survived. i think in such cases there is a whole lot of torn people though... broken for their loss while questioning why they lived.

anyways ive rambled and prolly gone way off course in this comment.
interesting thoughts.
| Posted on 2007-11-07 00:00:00 | by Someones Epiphany | [ Reply to This ]
  Hey, and wow! I am totally blown away by this piece. Beautiful and elegant, and unfortunately the bitter truth. I think that most poets view themselves as a vessel, as a mirror to hold up to society so that they may take a good, long deserved look into their hearts. The world is so repugnant that it can sometimes be upsetting to one's sensibilities and can make this task seem impossible. Maybe it is, who am I to judge; but I hope it isn't just a pipe dream. One person on their own may see it as an unsurmountable feat to change the world, and it most likely is. That doesn't mean that we feel that way any the less. I found this very inspirational and just wanted to let you know that I am impressed. There are others that feel this way, it's the struggle with apathy that makes it difficult.
Sarah Jane
| Posted on 2007-11-06 00:00:00 | by SayJay | [ Reply to This ]

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