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Sept 5, 2009 18:47:15 GMT -5
Post by Jamie~poetshare.forumotion.com on Sept 5, 2009 18:47:15 GMT -5
With shifting eyes and bold perspective I sift and read and judge invective What taste, what beauty, deemed defective Rendered limp by mores subjective . . .
I find myself inundated By soulful, soulless voices Evidently twitterpated By my rendered choices
And what do I write anymore? Fickle rhymes with nothing held in store? Whereupon my muse has fled My empty head
I sit, reflecting on my judgements
Lies, the poet said.
Lies the muse,
Dead.
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Sept 5, 2009 21:47:49 GMT -5
Post by Max on Sept 5, 2009 21:47:49 GMT -5
This piece is great save one part: it is contradictory. This is a compliment in disguise... because you claim here that your muse has died. Yet, there is a hidden complexity to this poem, though you may think to yourself that it's but a simple piece, Jamie. I would bet that your muse ain't dead, just asleep. Happens to us all, from time to time
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Sept 5, 2009 23:48:31 GMT -5
Post by Artemis on Sept 5, 2009 23:48:31 GMT -5
I agree with Max. Your muse is just resting, and this piece IS complex and good, with a deeper meaning than I can work out so early this English morning .... hugs, Kerry x
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Forest
Junior Member
Posts: 76
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Sept 11, 2009 20:40:49 GMT -5
Post by Forest on Sept 11, 2009 20:40:49 GMT -5
Thoroughly enjoyable write Jamie, really! I highly enjoyed the rhythm and rhyme in here. The second stanza was particularly good, especially the line "By soulful, soulless voices". As the others have said, your muse is far from dead, Jamie. Great piece!
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