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    dots Submission Name: Poverty of Beingdots

    Author: HisNameIsNoMore
    ASL Info:    28 - Male - Ohio
    Elite Ratio:    2.95 - 75/194/254
    Words: 128
    Class/Type: Poetry/Dark
    Total Views: 952
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 846


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsPoverty of Beingdots

    The stones of this road hurt my feet,
    asphalt, tar and concrete,
    broken – not of gravel;
    not of an Earthly vassal.

    Just poverty of being,
    scars, blood and things of little meaning,
    aspects of how time made us,
    “alright-“ as tokens on an abacus.

    An appetite for tragedy,
    cries of soothing rhapsody,
    cathartic – still a selfish future;
    still blind to the splendor of our nature.

    Inhaled like smoke in the eye,
    no Vietnam war - no poems by Robert Bly,
    just a soulless form of no more,
    much the same - morality of a whore.

    Wandering under broken street lamps,
    unable to rest or settle like a tramp,
    scrounging for change along the tracks,
    waiting for the train to take us back.

    Submitted on 2017-07-01 17:05:20     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

    1: >_<
    2: I dunno...
    3: meh!
    4: Pretty cool
    5: Wow!

    ||| Comments |||
      You'd think anyone in this forum would be happy to get two quite lengthy critiques (or even two 3 word critiques).
    I applaud someone who has a belief in their work and is willing to say so. In a poetry workshop (if this were a poetry workshop) that too is meritorious. I could however have done without the summations of 'befuddled contemplation' & 'haphazard rambling' though they did bring a chuckle.

    Levity aside, it seems a strange way to thank a person. I'm not quite yet foolish enough to think I know everything about everything and or can see all there is to be seen in a poem. I have simply offered a viewpoint and respect your own position. As time goes by who's to say whose views might differ. Can't be fairer than that.
    | Posted on 2017-07-18 00:00:00 | by Daniel Barlow | [ Reply to This ]
      I really love the imagery from this piece. While reading it, I imagined a cowboy prophet ambling along with his future disciples. Every one of them looking for a way out of the dusty hell they've been condemned to. The theme of wanting and never getting no matter what stone you turn is depressing, but real.
    Which really is Life, depressing but real. Full of self-involved humans looking for a break from the daily grind via fame and fortune.

    "Victims, aren't we all."
    | Posted on 2017-07-17 00:00:00 | by endlessgame23 | [ Reply to This ]
      Your critique was hardly seen as harsh, as I disagree with your assessment of the piece. Interesting nevertheless less how such pieces of brevity either bring out a long and befuddled contemplation (Outlaw) or a haphazard rambling (Daniel).

    Specificity is required in a critique of such nature. The diction of the piece is more important than the end rhyme, as well as pacing. I do not add descriptions to my work for the simple reason of wishing to see where the mind of others takes the poem itself.
    | Posted on 2017-07-16 00:00:00 | by HisNameIsNoMore | [ Reply to This ]
      I think it feels a bit convoluted because it's set out as rhyming couplets and as the poem wore on that form and format became more and more obvious and therefore more obtrusive.

    If someone spoke like that to you in everyday speech, after a few sentences you'd furrow your brow and wonder wtf was going on.

    At that point (obvious and obtrusive) it becomes quite painful to decipher what the poem's about because in order to make the end rhymes meet the language becomes tangled and or convoluted.

    I have not written in r + m for years
    but it appears i still have an ear for it

    in my opinion those two lines i just wrote have musicality, a natural quality, and masking technique
    your poem doesn't display.

    And. If we're talking musicality
    if you're auditioning for the band and you suck at guitar....

    maybe, dump the guitar, could be there's a spot for a drum.

    Kind of harsh or vigorous critique, but certainly, this forum could use that.

    At the end i had no idea what this poem was about because the technical issues acted as a blocker so that the words were not able to reach out and strike me.

    Goodness. Isn't that what poetry's about.... being struck by something?
    | Posted on 2017-07-15 00:00:00 | by Daniel Barlow | [ Reply to This ]
      I guess I can break the poem down for you, as it is quite interesting in how you decided to break it down.

    The rhyme is what it is, the words hold merit for what they are intended to describe. My focus is on diction and word delivery, so if you are looking for any specific rhythm, it will not be found. I will take a look into what you have described, as all work is ever evolving. As to the change in personal perspective, it is intended to grow in perspective as the piece moves on, going from intimacy of "myself" to the expansion of group think, which is part of the main point of the poem.

    The first stanza calls into thought, a road of sorts, which can easily be seen as life. Asphalt, tar and concrete are all agents of man, all of unnatural origin. So we can establish, in a non-literal sense that these aspects of construction wear on the trodden "being" of man itself. This leads into the second stanza where we encounter the phrase itself, Poverty of being. As we walk through this stanza we get inti another repetition of three ideas in relation to man: the scars that we incur; the cost of blood we have shed / given and the material nonsense we accrue through life, which holds little meaning. All of the parts and parcels mean little.more when all we are is merely sliding tokens on an abacus, which in the greater thing reflects just how little our existence means in the grand scheme of being.

    The third stanza embraces the second stanza in defining the selfish nature of our modern seld. Aroused by nothing but tragedy so that we can enjoy our many pseudo-cathartic remedies, which can be for all intents and purpose, a rhapsody. We do little things of meaning to actually prevent our own misery, so that "cathartic" feeling is the high itself. The human condition, it is within our very being, why resist it?

    When we look at the fourth stanza, the duality of the Vietnam War and Robert Bly, we first acknowledge that they are polar opposite in agenda, and that we as modern, western men, have no greater purpose, no great war, so we divide ourselves into these camps of polar lunacy between post-modern neo marxism and conservative war drums, it shows how vapid and vain we are, a hollow reflection of a man, much like a whore is a hollow reflection of passion.

    The ending stanza glimpses at the final shows how we are but homeless in history, walking under the constraints and constructions of the past, that maybe some of us wish we could go back to, maybe find meaning in thoughts of a different time.

    Modern man is too sensitive and weak, just a husk of what once was for the sake of spineless social equality.

    I think it is also good to note the general theme of my writings in general are of a nihilistic perspective (I myself am not a nihilist) and use underlying concepts from various philosophical disciplines while writing.

    I own all of my views, one merely needs to ask.
    | Posted on 2017-07-07 00:00:00 | by HisNameIsNoMore | [ Reply to This ]
      The rimes in this poem are definitely interesting, but often come close to crossing the line of making the poem feel forced. I don't think the riming itself is the cause of the problem, but the denatured structure it seems to impose on the poem.

    For example, your third line is disjointed -- I mean using a hyphen works but the ideas don't make any strong connections. What's broken? You? Your spirit? The road (which is made of stone or asphalt or tar or concrete? It's unclear which plays into which, or if this road is just a Frankenstein created by illiterate construction workers)? 'Not of gravel' further obfuscates the description because both concrete/asphalt require it.

    I think you get the point. The structural weakness of the ideas in the poem lead it to feeling hollow, as if it's just there to be a socket for your rimes.

    You also transition from an appropriated/personal perspective when you use 'my', to a slightly less personal 'us/our', to an impersonal 'the'.. It just feels uneasy, or at least not like it has a point. I also think you should look at your title a bit. "Poverty of being" is a tad unclear without a preposition; as in, it's unclear what your main object/subject is and what your emphasis is.

    Content-wise, your mention of Robert Bly also gives this poem a plausibly sexist undercurrent. As in, without Robert Bly, the male form became a hollow 'soulless form' or unraveled within the 'morality of a whore.' In fact, with that lens, the entire poem reads like a call to a more warlike/violent masculine form that existed before the industrial age, before the whole coal-coated hopeless vagabonds of a capital-centric lifestyle – before a man's livelihood seemed to be measured in dollars and could be counted on an abacus. Anyways, if that's the message here, barring the fact that I don't like it, then your poem is super cryptic and spineless. It's fine to have an opinion that may depart from the standard, but why not own up to it?

    Good luck with your poetic endeavors.
    | Posted on 2017-07-07 00:00:00 | by Outlaw | [ Reply to This ]

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