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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: The Poets Of Our Timedots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: HisNameIsNoMore
    ASL Info:    28 - Male - Ohio
    Elite Ratio:    3.09 - 75/182/213
    Words: 301
    Class/Type: Poetry/Serious
    Total Views: 892
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1992



    Description:
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    dotsThe Poets Of Our Timedots
    -------------------------------------------


    Where are our tales and dreams to believe?
    No Devil or disease can bend or distort it.
    Glorious thoughts- We adore-
    Where are the poets of our time?
    Searching for a path; trying to find that peaceful,
    distant shore-
    These are the words that escape you and I-

    Do our shackled societies still believe?
    The dirge of slavery; the freedom to select it.
    Derelict and deceit; do criminals punish failure?
    Where are the poets of our time?
    Chain-gang mentality. They're in it, bound to it.
    Open your eyes; grease up and slip free-
    These words are the only hope, the fear of you in me-

    As children did we learn to believe?
    Absolution in nothing; second chances cascading from learning.
    How crushing it was- Reality, the hammer that cracks- Being.
    Where are the poets of our time?
    Years long ago- I remember one like you.
    Crying and laughing; scraped knees and birthdays, even parades.
    Memories worth more weight than gold-
    Foolish it was, no one wanted to end the charade...

    Did the dirt tarnish the purity of your dreams?
    Found with a prying sympathy, dessicated dignity.
    A presence felt- Underplaying it waited, neglected.
    Where are the poets of our time?
    Remedies that once meant something, just stagnate and empty-
    Separate the doomed from the dying.
    Wait your turn- No one's trying.
    I'm sorry...

    Do you believe?
    Can you remember what the difference is between us and we?
    A sound, perhaps a melody to define our age-
    Where are the poets of our time?
    Miles away, fields of grain, whatever dreams do remain-
    Nostalgia- A slow morphine drip to begin the end,
    Until we return to the ashes and ocean brine.

    With these words worlds crumble and rise.
    I am a poet of our time.




    Submitted on 2012-03-22 10:38:31     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      I like the lyrical way this poem is built, with the stanzas and the refrain repeating...

    The poets of our time, hey they are probably all right here @ ES guys. Anyway that's my theory.

    And more seriously - it is a very serious question. Well, sometimes I think it is such a serious question that it has made all the poets of our time write chiefly about the poetry of our time and about their own poetry. But then I sometimes think, hey, that is a sign of the times isn't it?

    Conflict of interest declaration: I think Iam a poet of a previous time.
    | Posted on 2012-03-23 00:00:00 | by Glen Bowman | [ Reply to This ]
      you are a poet of our time---you are questioning where we all are. Where are our generation's Dickinsons and plaths and ferlinghetti's or maybe Whitman...do we have any poets now who will last, last forever, make some indelible mark in literature.

    but then who reads anymore? so few in this generation...

    i like this rant...it isn't afraid to be itself.
    jacob
    | Posted on 2012-03-22 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]


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