t. reflexion
t. reflexion
Nov 30, 2012

GOLLY

You are Rumpelstiltskin, of our time
with thread; you spin out gold in verses
In the fixture of words, a master
of confusion and of mysteries
abrasively noshing verse lovers
with astute adjectival phrases
This poet is a teacher of logic
throwing up inevitable traps
in simple puzzle to mesmerize

I know you, the brave son of tiger
The rebel warrior with a felt tip
Mightier than a trusted steel rapier
In battle of wit and sarcasm
your eminence goes ahead of you
as the August wind before the rain
sweeping everything on its path
Scattering them all over the place
For the human race to see and read

About This Poem

Review Request Direction: What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?

Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back

Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft

About the Author

Country/Region: NGA

Favorite Poets: Inspired by an article in an old manuscript

More from this author

Comments

D

Dalton

12 years 5 months ago

The pen is mightier than the sword...

John

t. reflexion

The ink bottle tilts and pours
like the Tsunami of eastern coasts
on the pages of my notebook
blotting all that I have written
these past weeks of grace

It was easier to rewrite
from broken tablets of stones
by the prophet as of old
than for me to recollect
scrbbles of a struggling man

Ian.T

Ian.T

12 years 4 months ago

"I see you" poet of doubt, as you shout out who you, are this means, that you are waiting for conformation of who you really are.
Look inside and keep writing about that poet and you will see him also, Grand write, Yours Ian.T

t. reflexion

Ambivalence stalks my every step and doubts are ahead of me like a crowd of market men and women. Thank you and best wishes.

tr

Ian.T

Ian.T

12 years 4 months ago

The ink bottle tilts and pours
like the Tsunami of eastern coasts
on the pages of my notebook
blotting all that I have written
these past weeks of grace

It was easier to rewrite
from broken tablets of stones
by the prophet as of old
than for me to recollect
scribbles of a struggling man

This is the poetry that is at the tip of your quill, these lines were the best of your true thoughts, though doubt stalked the pages, the words though hidden by a mere spill of ink, are still there.
Then to write of their loss in such a way is poetry, Yours Ian .T