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Ah! That Love Would'st Lead Me (Concrete) by EggbertShootsFire Ah! That Love would'st lead me
Down these garden paths in May
Entwining fingers passing
'Tween hazy fleurs flourishing
On a blurred and xanthene day.
Yet rather than that lovely visage
I've been gone and lead astray;
Afore these hours waking
I've no gentle whispers speaking
Save my heart, in sad dismay.
Ah! That Love would keep me
From Her torturing wing of thorns-
And the silent, fevered shadow
'Neath her brilliant-seeming halo,
Viewed solely by a love forlorn.
And would that I could leave him!
He, whose tone has pierced me through;
Clad in white and softly smiling,
With my tender heart left writhing,
As these shameless tears renew.
Ah! That Love would'st lead me
Toward His wond'rous arms outspread-
But alas; this springtide's turned,
And this lovely May's adjourned
With December in its stead.
Up the ladder:
unlucky
Down the ladder:
Inner Peace
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 3.7916667
Posted: July 29, 2002 6:57 PM PDT; Last modified: July 29, 2002 6:57 PM PDTWeighted score: 3.799754 Overall Rank: 13490 Comments:
[2]
horus8 @ 24.126.113.154
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29-Jul-02/7:37 PM
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Reply
Eggy poo.. friends with Blake aye..figures..i bet you guys hang out at B daltons and read whitman and frost until your little pee pee's get all overwraught with pubescent tension. you were made for eachother "ah that love would lead" me to impale myself upon the "writhing flower". "pierced me through". fucking "shameless tears", "but alas". i nodded out sixteen times during this pile of "witty" scrutum fungus. fell into my candle at my desk, and have burned off half my hair. i am a mason.i have brothers. we know were you guys hide the gerbals. the hoof is waiting. you fail.
p.s you do not shoot fire, eggbert, you shoot kale fluffy green kale into the iguana aquariums at a petco somewhere in fallon,nv. you have a hang-nail that never goes away, and your mother would make you wear the hush-puppies with the scuff proof toes (almost until sixth grade) your dad works at the ford plant. and your brother has been giving you wedgies since you can remember for no particular reason other than the fact that you are a "hopeless romantic" that will never get laid cuz u sound like a self righteous twit. the more well read you try to sound, the more comic book you display. "Look down", see that? thats my hoof mocking your sugar shorts.o
You might have at least quoted phrases that I actually INCLUDED in the poem. This was written for Blake (in his style) in celebration of his surgery, which allowed him to be able to finally walk for the first time in his life. But have a nice day, regardless of your opinion of my work.
Awful. 1. A large sack of wank. Poncy and overly expressive. I have a nasty taste in my mouth.
A Concrete poem is a conglomeration of words (sometimes one word repeated over and over) whose overall shape is a key to the concept it presents. There are no truly agreed-upon conventions, but a natural elegance of arrangement is often striven for.
Sometimes the poem can be read in multiple directions from different starting points, depending on the shape of the form and the curiousity of the reader.
Oh, lovely!
I am setting myself for a blast from others, but -
this really isn't bad - a little forced, but it does have the flavor of English poets of Blake's era. Personally, I love that kind of poetry, but you take a real risk posting it where it isn't seen in its best light. And would that I could leave him! "He, whose tone has pierced me through; Clad in white and softly smiling, With my tender heart left writhing, As these shameless tears renew." I would have put a comma after left - to emphasize writhing, but that's me, not you. This verse I chose was really strong, could use some tweaking, but it is very good. "And so, young poet, clad in black, merely a few things your words do lack. Hone thy skills with grace and labor, that they might not be smote with tabor."
Line 6: "lead" should be "led". Apart from that error whivh I shall charitably assume is a typo, I liked this poem even though it's a bit derivative.
Charmingly archaic. Unfairl consigned to the wastes of worst poems. I shall rescue it from there!
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