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Origins (Free verse) by Doug

And now comes past, with his new squaw forgotten, to consummate their raven joining in the newly - wed suite of was. And they'll forge a powdered shadow, while knotted in their mishapened need, soon giving life to an abstraction, And they'll call it Christ. And now comes rhythm , beside her new groom profound, to consecrate their listless union, in the warm retreat of always and glad, And they'll suppose a subtle light, in that instant of tremor and faint intrigue, soon giving birth to an expectant splendor - And we'll call it charisma.

zodiac 16-Jun-04/1:42 PM
Look, Doug, I know you think I'm a "nitpicking dickwad" and a "bore", but please try to pay attention for a second. This is as close to real criticism as I get on this site.

The entire central conceit of this poem (that Perfection and Profound beget Hope) is totally wrong. If anything, Hope and An Infinite Amount of Monkeys and A Finite Amount of Time produce Perfection, but even that's pretty much crap, too. The point is, Perfection and Hope are pretty much unrelated - or at best inversely related. If there were no such real thing as Perfection, people would still Hope. And, in fact, if there were such a thing as Perfection, and it was common enough, then there would be no such thing as Hope.

And besides, Perfection and Profound aren't even the species. If they were to breed, they could only produce some horrific Adjenoun which any half-decent midwife would wisely smother with a pillow. I would recommend picking some new abstract qualities and giving this another shot. Or even better, stop writing poems based on your bad idea of what poetry's supposed to be, which is apparently Big Capitalized Abstractions, and write something about, I don't know, your deep personal feelings or something.

Thanks,
zodiac

PS-The most appropriate response to this comment is not: "So? Your central conceit is wrong too and I gave all your poems multiple zeros."




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