Musing on the Death of Poetry

when the clack of keyboards cease
and pages of unbound books
scattered by the indolent breeze
produce a melancholy dirge

think of all the unwritten words
that remain stillborn in the mind
much like the gilded pheasant
out of the snare and into the fire

About This Poem

Review Request Intensity: I appreciate moderate constructive criticism

Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft

About the Author

Country/Region: AUS

Favorite Poets: There is nothing quite as boring as a life completely devoid of shadows.

Comments

Little moment of floating

Little moment of floating pages
silently sideways travelling
to and fro in the mind,
their feathered edges frayed,
their visions lost,
I liked this one you cryptic bard!
Its sway of memory,
it swing of movement
coming to rest.

Ann with love.

Thanks Ann

Please accept my heartfelt appreciation for your kind words and open-faced response. CB

The first six lines are perfect

In form, content and imagery.

But the gold plated pheasant has been caught and cooked (and presumably the gold collected from the ashes and cashed in). How is that stillborn? Are you yanking our chains?

Just joking, what I'm trying to say is that fire is a very violent metaphor for the quiet grief of stillborn.

Lol, Jess

One man's treasure is another's demise. hahaha... I guess it depends on the point of view. Point taken! And yes, the violence was intended. That is why the jarring of the last two lines. As another response to the poem reads: Life will go on. Thanks for your words of comment. You are much appreciated. Cheers, CB

This piece is young, and

This piece is young, and wants more time in the bottle. Its promise is evident. Your ability to capture the emotional undertones of mortalities end, and the regret of the unwritten poem in the metaphors-stillborn, trapped, and thrown into the fire- aside from the final metaphor being a little awkward in its presentation-being an unborn dead thing and then a gilded peacock trapped and destroyed- One cannot help but to notice your underlying skill and sensitivity of subject. The first stanza is very well done and conveys this moody piece on its way with a funeral precision. Good poem with caveat.