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The Mutable Winds

PostPosted: Sat May 19, 2007 5:33 pm
by AsphodelElysium
*Of Fortune? I've settled on the first part as the new title. I'm still debating the "Of Fortune" part. And preferences? Anyway, look for other revisions soon. :D

Okay, I'm still working on this, tweaking it, as it were, but I wanted to get some feedback on it. I've been working on this, sleepless, for the past 2 days, had to get it out (that's right, its brand, spanking new) but now I need to let some other eyes look at it while I catch up on some sleep. Its a bit long, so please be patient.

The Mutable Winds

Weary, heartsore, and fearful,
listless days give way to sleepless nights and
dreams that open up the landscape of the soul.
Blue clouds, the liquid warmth of
sunshine flows down upon a life
standing on a precipice before the
chasm of the future.
Held tightly in hopes
as welcoming as mother’s love,
the pomp and splendor of
attainable aspirations,
faith like broken bones
healed over time, and a
requited love that seems
no more ghostly than
the nose on your face.
Joys that float, singing,
swelling, jubilant, dancing,
through the air of my Heaven.
While the face of God smiles
just somewhere behind my solar plexus.
These things, wings
to lift a spirit rapturously
from the earth.

But always threatening,
forever the breath on the nape,
an inky, black fog.
Rolling, upwards twisting,
choking the fleeting delights
so that even sorrow balks at it.
A vengeful beast panting
sticky sweet malice and
suffocating rage,
thirsty for blood and misery.
Slow, subtle poisons
more fatal than that
which killed Socrates
block the sky,
brew a storm,
raise an army,
to destroy my brief blisses.
Forced changes
turn my mind to a maelstrom,
my heart, to a weighted Sisyphean stone.
Lightning strikes.

My passions burn like a dying star,
a phoenix unsure of its rising.
Rebirthed beyond the burden of strength,
the heaviness of scars.
Struggling up through the ashes,
flames still drip from
the feathers of my thoughts.
Never forgiven,
for dispelling the illusion of loveliness,
for the glimpse of the toll taken.
So I sit, transformed,
monstrously human,
wearing a face
as smooth as glass.
The tempest, the life,
in those eyes
enough to test
the endurance of a saint.
Wake weary of living,
and as tired
as you are of me.
No one stays long,
and I cannot leave.

PostPosted: Sun May 20, 2007 9:25 pm
by Saturn

Truly we share the same love of tumultuous passions in our verse AE - this is very busy, very full of that thing I've always tried to capture - the heat of the moment, or the surging sway of the passions of the heart.

You're a poet after my own heart - let the critics snipe this is what poetry was made for :!:

PostPosted: Mon May 21, 2007 3:47 am
by AsphodelElysium
:oops: :oops: :oops: :oops:

Now you've made me blush! Thank you very much for your entirely undeserved praise. Truly, honestly, this is just a draft. :oops:

If only the tumultuous passions were limited to my verse. I think you'll agree with me that having to live life in such a manner is miserably exhausting. Then again, if it wasn't, what would we write about? *wry smile*

Talk with me about titles. I'm not sure I like the current one. Anything else come to mind?

PostPosted: Mon May 21, 2007 9:22 am
by Saturn
Hmm let me think about that.

Titles are always difficulty to get right.

Sometimes I'll begin a poem with a title clearly in mind, in fact the poem will spring from a title, or just a word which suggests a theme then other times I will have written the poem completely with no idea of a title.

For your one how about uhhmmm


Yes I know its kind of a hackneyed title used many times but I love that word and it seems poetic in itself as a description of the kind of rapid and sometimes drastic changes that can happen in life, the shifts of mood, of feeling of circumstances.

PostPosted: Mon May 21, 2007 9:40 am
by AsphodelElysium
I like that. Let me tinker with it a bit. It feels right but it also feels like there should be more. Long title for a long poem. :lol:

Thank you.

PostPosted: Mon May 21, 2007 9:48 am
by Saturn
Just a suggestion it's always hard to find appropriate titles but the title doesn't really matter that much, it's the content :wink:

PostPosted: Mon May 21, 2007 9:53 am
by AsphodelElysium
Yes, and the content needs a great deal of work as well. It seems choppy and repetitive to me. My metaphors aren't tight enough and I'm explaining too much where I should be giving the reader more credit.

But then its always the way with a new poem. I agonize with it, go without sleep, on and on, until its in some semblance of poetry. I usually have a title in mind before I start but this one was different.

I was often told that poetry, well, writing in general was never finished, it was abandoned. Do you think that holds true?

PostPosted: Mon May 21, 2007 10:01 am
by Saturn
Probably but I'm lazy I hate overworking things, it kind of spoils the inspiration part for me - I could probably rewrite all the things I've ever written but when does it end, how do you know when something is "complete" or finished, you need to just sometimes let something stand as a monument, a snapshot of a moment of time when it was written, warts, and errors and mistakes and all.

PostPosted: Mon May 21, 2007 10:10 am
by AsphodelElysium
I highly doubt its laziness. Your poems are good to start with. I have to rewrite mine all the time but I do eventually get to the point where it "feels" right. In the few instances that I haven't, the poem is abandoned for a lengthy period of time. There are still some I haven't gone back to yet.

A professor of mine used that expression, "warts and all," when we were studying Whitman. I hadn't heard it before or since until now. :lol:

May I ask a stupid question? (Totally off topic, as well. I'm like a child with ADD. Oh, look, a bird!) What time is it there right now?

PostPosted: Mon May 21, 2007 1:31 pm
by Saturn
AsphodelElysium wrote:
A professor of mine used that expression, "warts and all," when we were studying Whitman. I hadn't heard it before or since until now. :lol:

May I ask a stupid question? (Totally off topic, as well. I'm like a child with ADD. Oh, look, a bird!) What time is it there right now?

Must be only a British expression. Its origins come from the great Republican leader of the English Civil War Oliver Cromwell who expressed the wish that his portrait be painted "warts and all" [Cromwell was famously ugly and had warts on his face.

And the time, well as I write it is 1.30 in the afternoon so I guess I'm five hours ahead of you, or is it six? Not sure.

PostPosted: Mon May 21, 2007 1:42 pm
by AsphodelElysium
That's very interesting. I didn't know that.

Its 8:30 in the morning here, so...I was wondering about the time difference too.

PostPosted: Mon May 21, 2007 1:45 pm
by Saturn
You should get some sleep seriously :lol:

PostPosted: Mon May 21, 2007 1:53 pm
by AsphodelElysium
So they tell me. :lol: I get 4 or 5 hours that's enough for me to write on. :D

PostPosted: Mon May 21, 2007 1:59 pm
by Saturn

As long as you're okay - at least get some breakfast or something, coffee, anything :lol:

PostPosted: Mon May 21, 2007 2:04 pm
by AsphodelElysium
Honey, I'm fine. I'll be even better when I can get back into a routine (job hunting is such a pain). I'll grab me a nap here in a few and it'll be all good. Hell, I may even get some rest. That really depends on if I have nightmares and/or have another poem/short story come to mind.

What can I say? I'm strange.