After over one hundred days I looked back at my old poetry thread and noticed it was...broken. As such, I am now opening this one instead. I just have two poems right now but please, please tell me what you think of them.
The stage is set; your costume donned
The spotlight is focused; your audience awaits
Appearing takes an eternity; your footsteps leaden with fear
Why is this so hard? It’s just as you rehearsed
Reality is harder; a constant drama improvised
Just go through the motions, like you’ve done before
The spotlight fades as you’re plunged into darkness
Memory takes over; you’re blind to the present
She’s crushing your possessions and dreams
Despondent in hatred and rage
You scream at her with malicious fury
Why do words come now?
She is storming out of the room now
Slamming the door in tears
You lash out at thin air
How do you know what to do?
It’s just another drama, but unprepared
Don’t think of what’s to come
Flash forward to the present
Disappointed groans go unmasked
Behind you colleagues curse in annoyance
One gets ready to fight, another breaks down
The farce is gone; reality returns
You know what to do
Gone are the hands of exhaustion
That grapple me through the night
No sense of time nor need to be
I flourish in the dark
For thought does not exist
In the blissful realms of night
I do not worry nor wish to sleep
As the darkness takes me
Not weary do I wish to be
As the darkness leaves the night
Not break of dawn nor peace of morn
From darkness can entice me
But doth the sun rise with no regard
For my fading grasp of night?
Not power of man nor strength of heart
Can save the waning darkness
And yet the sun doth rise above
Encompassing dwindled night
Not power of man nor strength of night
Hath saved the waning dark
Piercing day and throbbing norm
Replace the gentle night
Not brilliant light nor harshest sound
From slumber can awake me
Excuse the olde English in the second poem. I'm just starting to see why classic poets used it!
I love the first verse (that word's probably not correct, but oh well) of "Improvisation". It sets the scene so well, with its balance between depth in detail ("Appearing takes an eternity; your footsteps leaden with fear") and lack of it (the first four and succinct lines, like sketching the bare bones of a picture in pencil). I like too the personification of Memory in the second verse, but I got lost after that, and am going to take one bold leap of a guess at what you're depicting: the main character of the piece remembers another time on stage, the bad way in which it ended; at the end of the flashback, the MC knows what must be done, though he comes to the conclusion belatedly; his colleagues are wondering what's taking him so long, et cetera, et cetera.
Then again, I am perhaps being too literal.
"Insomnia" seems almost a misnomer for the second poem, considering the treatment insomnia often receives in literature, the degrees of misery so often associated with it. I didn't expect the reverence the poem pays to night from its title, but it's beautifully done.
I love old English as much as the next person (unless, of course, the next person has been forced to read Chaucer in the original. Without translation. I may then have cause to doubt the extent of that person's love for OE, or whatever era of English Chaucer wrote in, xD). But after the first three stanzas (verses? =P), the sudden "doth" is distracting (though I adore the line, "And yet the sun doth rise..." - there's something so epic and timeless about that line); I found myself looking for further occurrences of that word rather than giving my full attention to the poem. But it's a minor matter.
I like how each poem has its own voice - "Improvisation" has a fire to it that "Insomnia" does not, and "Insomnia" is calm, blissful, and focused where "Improvisation" leaps about in its exploration of the idea. I find your poetry quite complex, in that while the ideas spring out effortlessly, your manner of exploring them - the way you use language - is complicated.
And on a note that sounds completely unrelated but actually is: do you recycle any of your poems? (Have you written any in the past that could be cleaned up and posted?) In other words, I look forward to any more poems you may have.
Well. This poem certainly has rendered me speechless; I haven't the faintest idea of what to say. Except, perhaps, wow? Intense? Ouch?
I'm not be helpful, am I? But truly, Spores is extremely visceral, almost - shall I say? - violent in the intensity of the words you use and ideas you convey. The poem is a bit too vague for my liking (vague in that I don't get in concrete images in the reading, more a whirling mishmash of toxins and despair), but it certainly moved me.
The rhythm of the poem seemed off at times - the lines would flow and then would come a jagged line that doesn't stream with the rest. "Serenity is oblivion" after all those longer, more syllabled lines, for instance. But it fits the topic.
What I find particularly curious is that your poem is not the only one covering decayed Britain here on ZU. There was at least another, back in the day (of '05, xP) that "commemorate[s] the utter abyss Britain has become". I must needs update my knowledge of that nation, methinks. What I know of Britian is stuck in the 19th century, >>