It's the 2026 Revise-a-Poem Challenge (Comments welcome!)

[Waeponwifestre]

Well hello there, @Waeponwifestre, did someone say “…smut…?” mmm, hot, wild, orgasm.

From memory of a 42 poem, I once saw a friend far away call, he called just to say all poems find homes. And live lives of their own. (Then he deleted his post). Dick. Otherwise I’d link the poem. Which key words I know I got wrong. It seems relevant to your questions.

Write what you will. Write what you won’t. Be true to yourself. Including, your intended audience. Is there really anything else… ?

Not Death. This poem. I feel. You wrote with the music in you.

Thanks so much for your input. I’m gonna sleep on it for a bit. I already see some wording I’m probably gonna fiddle with either way so maybe when I’m ready to do that I’ll have eyes fresh enough to see if I feel like I want to go further than that.

 

[woodsman44]

too full of stuff that would only make sense to a trained musician

An advisor once told me 'know your audience, and more importantly, know who they are, and know who they aren't' (in an academic setting...close enough).

I would add that, sometimes at least, the audience should know who they are, and know who they aren't, and more importantly, know if they are the audience at all.

Even with my limited knowledge of music composition, it's not 'too full of stuff.' And so what if it was? An opportunity to learn, something worth googling for once, maybe ask the author, maybe its not for me. Or, or, I can appreciate the aesthetic while being a bit clueless about the rest. What a nasty lie it would be to say I fully understand the poems on even this and its companion thread, yet I still find value in them.

Getting deep into assumption territory here, but I'm guessing that person loathes The Jabberwocky.

 

[Waeponwifestre]

Getting deep into assumption territory here, but I'm guessing that person loathes The Jabberwocky.

No I’m pretty sure they appreciate Lewis Carrol!

I think I’m pretty happy leaving the music stuff in after reflecting on it (it is my poem after all!) but I do see where they’re coming from. I think that their opinion was that much of the composition stuff could be rewritten to be more accessible and less distracting to an audience who doesn’t know what stuff like Aeolian mode is. I tend to lean more towards just letting words, terms and references wash over me when I’m reading poetry (or in general) but someone who might want to be constantly looking things up is going to have a radically different experience.

Without getting too much into the weeds though a lot of that piece really does tie in thematically to remembering a brilliant composer and mourning them. The choice of the A minor scale to evoke a feeling of sadness and loss, rooting it to the I chord through certain composition techniques to create a feeling of stasis, the choice of the canon form which uses a lot of instruments echoing the other musical lines previously played like a sonic metaphor for how someone’s art echoes through other’s artists and evoking medieval and renaissance era sacred music as like a nod to how we look to the past to create new things in the present. Even the choice to use a bell to structure the piece around specifically because the overtones produced by a bell are very slightly different than those produced by non-bell instruments - they’re very slightly higher so it brings a very subtle sense of lightness and opening up to the end of the piece after we’ve just listened to a meditation on what we generally perceive as a very sad and solemn scale (I could go on for forever about how awesome I think this piece is lmao)

These are all things I’d like to show people through the poem and there may be a better way to transmit that knowledge, the emotional intensity of not only hearing the music but also knowing the incredibly deliberate intention in its writing and my deep love of that piece and imo it’s genius to the reader, which is really what I want to get across to the reader. All stuff I’m thinking about now and writing a bit about it is helping me clarify my thoughts on how I could maybe write it into a better poem.

 

[Angeline]

No I’m pretty sure they appreciate Lewis Carrol!

I think I’m pretty happy leaving the music stuff in after reflecting on it (it is my poem after all!) but I do see where they’re coming from. I think that their opinion was that much of the composition stuff could be rewritten to be more accessible and less distracting to an audience who doesn’t know what stuff like Aeolian mode is. I tend to lean more towards just letting words, terms and references wash over me when I’m reading poetry (or in general) but someone who might want to be constantly looking things up is going to have a radically different experience.

Without getting too much into the weeds though a lot of that piece really does tie in thematically to remembering a brilliant composer and mourning them. The choice of the A minor scale to evoke a feeling of sadness and loss, rooting it to the I chord through certain composition techniques to create a feeling of stasis, the choice of the canon form which uses a lot of instruments echoing the other musical lines previously played like a sonic metaphor for how someone’s art echoes through other’s artists and evoking medieval and renaissance era sacred music as like a nod to how we look to the past to create new things in the present. Even the choice to use a bell to structure the piece around specifically because the overtones produced by a bell are very slightly different than those produced by non-bell instruments - they’re very slightly higher so it brings a very subtle sense of lightness and opening up to the end of the piece after we’ve just listened to a meditation on what we generally perceive as a very sad and solemn scale (I could go on for forever about how awesome I think this piece is lmao)

These are all things I’d like to show people through the poem and there may be a better way to transmit that knowledge, the emotional intensity of not only hearing the music but also knowing the incredibly deliberate intention in its writing and my deep love of that piece and imo it’s genius to the reader, which is really what I want to get across to the reader. All stuff I’m thinking about now and writing a bit about it is helping me clarify my thoughts on how I could maybe write it into a better poem.

I think you're wise to leave the composition language in. I had to read your poem multiple times to understand that it underscores (no pun intended lol) the overall tone of funereal, sepulchre beauty.

I do think though that some pauses with space (maybe at the tolling bell lines) would slow down the read and fit the overall tone of the poem

Just my opinion. Hope it helps.

 

[42BelowsBack]

How dare me. Having just written a lowbrow Lit stroker poem, comment on @Waeponwifestres latest poem?

The answer, I am dumb. She is very clever. A young Beethoven.

The onion: Death is missing as a universal experience. Death is the bridge that we, whatever audience have all walked. I think about that as I comment. There are Death winds in the doldrums. They bring life endless clarity.

But the poem isn’t about death? It’s about what you love. Who you are. How you write. As an individual member of your audience I appreciate your craft.

 

[SapioSexual9]

Write what you know, write what you don’t know. It’s a bit clunky.
As a writing exercise, I want to panel beat this poem.

WHOOP WHOOOP
Driving lessons.
Billie’s house, little brother is waiting. It’s dark
outside. He is crying. Meanwhile, earlier racing along in
Daddy’s old Newport Convertible
-driving over to Momma’s girlfriend Billie's house.
To pick up little brother. I am front seat. In the middle,
Daddy gives me the look. Whoop-
Whoop. I reach across and take the wheel. Momma
hands Daddy two unlit Slims. Skinny as the cigarettes,
I am hanging off the steering wheel. Flying
down the freeway. With a big goofy grin. Daddy taps the
Slims butts against the steering wheel. Three times for luck.
Daddy cups his palms, lights his and Momma’s slims,
I miss the turn. But no, body, gets hurt. We exhale. Daddy
says. Driving lessons. A car can be fixed. A crying boy
can grow a dick. Sometimes it’s better to be latter.

 

[42BelowsBack]

Write what you know, write what you don’t know. It’s a bit clunky.
As a writing exercise, I want to panel beat this poem.

WHOOP WHOOOP
Driving lessons.
Billie’s house, little brother is waiting. It’s dark
outside. He is crying. Meanwhile, earlier racing along in
Daddy’s old Newport Convertible
-driving over to Momma’s girlfriend Billie's house.
To pick up little brother. I am front seat. In the middle,
Daddy gives me the look. Whoop-
Whoop. I reach across and take the wheel. Momma
hands Daddy two unlit Slims. Skinny as the cigarettes,
I am hanging off the steering wheel. Flying
down the freeway. With a big goofy grin. Daddy taps the
Slims butts against the steering wheel. Three times for luck.
Daddy cups his palms, lights his and Momma’s slims,
I miss the turn. But no, body, gets hurt. We exhale. Daddy
says. Driving lessons. A car can be fixed. A crying boy
can grow a dick. Sometimes it’s better to be latter.

Sap. You know what to do. Do it. And, I think the lil bro detail i.e. always crying is a red heading at best.

 

[Angeline]

Sap. You know what to do. Do it. And, I think the lil bro detail i.e. always crying is a red heading at best.

I concur. I'd start the poem with:

Racing along in....

to me, that's where the poem really starts and you mention the destination over the next few lines anyway.



PS I love the cigarette images. Very vivid.

 

[SmilingLez]

Write what you know, write what you don’t know. It’s a bit clunky.
As a writing exercise, I want to panel beat this poem.

WHOOP WHOOOP
Driving lessons.
Billie’s house, little brother is waiting. It’s dark
outside. He is crying. Meanwhile, earlier racing along in
Daddy’s old Newport Convertible
-driving over to Momma’s girlfriend Billie's house.
To pick up little brother. I am front seat. In the middle,
Daddy gives me the look. Whoop-
Whoop. I reach across and take the wheel. Momma
hands Daddy two unlit Slims. Skinny as the cigarettes,
I am hanging off the steering wheel. Flying
down the freeway. With a big goofy grin. Daddy taps the
Slims butts against the steering wheel. Three times for luck.
Daddy cups his palms, lights his and Momma’s slims,
I miss the turn. But no, body, gets hurt. We exhale. Daddy
says. Driving lessons. A car can be fixed. A crying boy
can grow a dick. Sometimes it’s better to be latter.

I just looked at some images of a Newport convertible. Damn those things look like topless tanks.

https://c8.alamy.com/comp/2BDF7CY/1961-chrysler-newport-convertible-classic-american-car-2BDF7CY.jpg

 

[SapioSexual9]

I just looked at some images of a Newport convertible. Damn those things look like topless tanks.

https://c8.alamy.com/comp/2BDF7CY/1961-chrysler-newport-convertible-classic-american-car-2BDF7CY.jpg

They were whales made affordable

 

[SapioSexual9]

Write what you know, write what you don’t know. It’s a bit clunky.
As a writing exercise, I want to panel beat this poem.

WHOOP WHOOOP
Driving lessons.
Billie’s house, little brother is waiting. It’s dark
outside. He is crying. Meanwhile, earlier racing along in
Daddy’s old Newport Convertible
-driving over to Momma’s girlfriend Billie's house.
To pick up little brother. I am front seat. In the middle,
Daddy gives me the look. Whoop-
Whoop. I reach across and take the wheel. Momma
hands Daddy two unlit Slims. Skinny as the cigarettes,
I am hanging off the steering wheel. Flying
down the freeway. With a big goofy grin. Daddy taps the
Slims butts against the steering wheel. Three times for luck.
Daddy cups his palms, lights his and Momma’s slims,
I miss the turn. But no, body, gets hurt. We exhale. Daddy
says. Driving lessons. A car can be fixed. A crying boy
can grow a dick. Sometimes it’s better to be latter.


THE REVISION.

Plenty of gas no brake
no pedal

When I was smoking cute
skinny as a cigarette my

parents bought a fifth hand Chrysler
two door Newport convertible

our lives were flying
along on its bench front seat

red vinyl interior racing our
exterior white paint patina

beneath our feet the American
dream stretched out

on a highway to anywhere we
had to get there. Fast

 

[SapioSexual9]

Thanks 42 for pointing out I needed to put the proverbial up the rhymes with gas.

I was ……. by these lines… helped ….. realized the ….. poem needed to…

Racing along in....

mention the destination …

…the cigarette images. Very vivid.

Thanks Angeline, I woke up and realized it’s still in revision! Cigarettes and my little red herring is missing! No longer a tricky trip-tych that everyone already knew the destination.
DzZzsclaimer: It is a poem subject to my Ars poetica. I recuse requse whatever myself.

 

[SpermFactory]

Hey

Write what you know, write what you don’t know. It’s a bit clunky.
As a writing exercise, I want to panel beat this poem.

WHOOP WHOOOP
Driving lessons.
Billie’s house, little brother is waiting. It’s dark
outside. He is crying. Meanwhile, earlier racing along in
Daddy’s old Newport Convertible
-driving over to Momma’s girlfriend Billie's house.
To pick up little brother. I am front seat. In the middle,
Daddy gives me the look. Whoop-
Whoop. I reach across and take the wheel. Momma
hands Daddy two unlit Slims. Skinny as the cigarettes,
I am hanging off the steering wheel. Flying
down the freeway. With a big goofy grin. Daddy taps the
Slims butts against the steering wheel. Three times for luck.
Daddy cups his palms, lights his and Momma’s slims,
I miss the turn. But no, body, gets hurt. We exhale. Daddy
says. Driving lessons. A car can be fixed. A crying boy
can grow a dick. Sometimes it’s better to be latter.


THE REVISION.

Plenty of gas no brake
no pedal

When I was smoking cute
skinny as a cigarette my

parents bought a fifth hand Chrysler
two door Newport convertible

our lives were flying
along on its bench front seat

red vinyl interior racing our
exterior white paint patina

beneath our feet the American
dream stretched out

on a highway to anywhere we
had to get there. Fast

@SapioSexual9 check this out.
Part three of you triptych.

WARNING: There’s a Car Stuck In Snow.

On this dark flag,
the stars are a falling dove
veering off the road
in a nameless place.
There was life in her car,
She was an American vehicle,
the engine kept running
then forever her tracks stopped.
Never getting her back to her children.
Karoline is this outer space?

I think @42BelowsBack should write part two of your American car triptych.

 

[SapioSexual9]

Hey

@SapioSexual9 check this out.
Part three of you triptych.

WARNING: There’s a Car Stuck In Snow.

On this dark flag,
the stars are a falling dove
veering off the road
in a nameless place.
There was life in her car,
She was an American vehicle,
the engine kept running
then forever her tracks stopped.
Never getting her back to her children.
Karoline is this outer space?

I think @42BelowsBack should write part two of your American car triptych.

Thank you @SpermFactory. I think @42BelowsBack could pull it off. I also like the idea of multiple poets, perhaps three, writing the center piece. The in between vehicles / roads / voices. The ending in your poem with an American poet shot dead by another American.

In my dream world, @Tzara, @Angeline, and @42BelowsBack would write three separate totally different pieces that are the centre piece of the triptych.

Only my dream on this ‘Adult’ literature site where all types of dreams are free.

 

[Angeline]

Thank you @SpermFactory. I think @42BelowsBack could pull it off. I also like the idea of multiple poets, perhaps three, writing the center piece. The in between vehicles / roads / voices. The ending in your poem with an American poet shot dead by another American.

In my dream world, @Tzara, @Angeline, and @42BelowsBack would write three separate totally different pieces that are the centre piece of the triptych.

Only my dream on this ‘Adult’ literature site where all types of dreams are free.

I'd do it. My father worked for General Motors for 30 years. I can write about cars and the American Dream. Maybe that's a challenge for the forum: Write a car poem or cars and the American Dream. Beep beep, beep beep yeah!

 

[nudeblaqgirl]

I think that i shall never see
A poem lovelier than me
My sweet ass and my big breasts
One points east, the other west

My long legs and pretty feet
If you're a foot freak, I'm your treat
I guess that's all I have to tell
For mocking Frost, I'll go to Hell

 

[42BelowsBack]

I'd do it. My father worked for General Motors for 30 years. I can write about cars and the American Dream. Maybe that's a challenge for the forum: Write a car poem or cars and the American Dream. Beep beep, beep beep yeah!

Beep beep, beep beep yeah!

 

[Angeline]

Beep beep, beep beep yeah!

Much as I'd love to take the credit ~

 

[Waeponwifestre]

So I guess about a year ago I figured I’d read through the Bible just because I never have and it ended up being a really interesting experience. I kind of like all religious literature but I had avoided that one for a long time because of living in the US, but I was kinda surprised at A. how beautiful a lot of the language and imagery is a lot of the time, but also B. it’s still got some not so great stuff in it, but it’s really vastly different than the oppressively bleak view of the Old and New Testaments a lot of people in the US try to sell. And I was also interested to learn that stuff like Revelation functioned as coded resistance literature protesting against a colonialist government that had no qualms about murdering people in brutal and humiliating ways.

Anyways I wrote this mostly thinking about Palestine and CECOT but I never quite finished it. I’m still not quite happy with it but I changed some stuff and I at least finished my seven septets so some of them didn’t have only six lines anymore. And today just seemed like a good day to revisit it for a bit.

Here’s the old version

Have you heard the Good News? The Tower is
Falling! *Kairos* is come! The veil lifted!
And the Kingdom shall now be uncovered!
Today we all choose whether we wish to
Dwell in the Kingdom of the World, or the
Kingdom of Heaven, within and without.

Have you heard the Good News? Empire is
Ending! The time for action has now come!
Centurions slaughter white-robed martyrs!
Their fear palpable as they gun us down
Or throw us in pits of concrete and steel
Or ship us all over the ends of an
Earth crying out for justice and mercy.

Have you heard the Good News? Revelation is
Coming! Pestilence stalks in the darkness!
Rome bombs the Holy Land! Famine is come!
All throughout the Kingdom of Heaven is
Within us, we create it around us.
Our actions today can call light to light.

Have you heard the Good News? Angels are
Crying! Cornered Beasts roar in defiance!
Trembling at our charity and peace!
The rich quake with fear at the poor, the sick
The homeless, the oppressed, the refugee.
The powerful cannot hide the stains of
Ruin and despair they paint much longer.

Have you heard the Good News? False prophets are
Lying! They bray for bloodshed in the name
Of a lamb already sacrificed too
Many times! No amount of carnage will
Keep them from the outer darkness, only
Repentance they lie to themselves about.

Have you heard the Good News? A change is now
Coming! Multitudes among the nations
Shout out for a new, fair world to be born!
We tire of this time where the few have
The many and the many have the few!
Archons forget that the first shall be last
And the blessed meek shall inherit the Earth.

So, have you heard the Good News? Death is now
Dying! Though the Sun may go dark and the
Star Wormwood falls, we must be that shining
Lamppost on a hill, as we all build the
City where all peoples are welcome, the
Gates never shut, and its Living Waters
Nourish forever and ever. Amen.

And here’s the revised version

Have you heard the Good News? The Tower is
Falling! Kairos is come! The veil lifted!
And the Kingdom shall now be uncovered!
And Leviathan fed to us starving!
Today we all choose whether we wish to
Dwell in the Kingdom of the World, or the
Kingdom of Heaven, within and without.

Have you heard the Good News? Empire is
Ending! The time for action has now come!
Centurions slaughter white-robed martyrs!
Their fear palpable as they gun us down
Or throw us in pits of concrete and steel
Or ship us all over the ends of an
Earth crying out for justice and mercy.

Have you heard the Good News? Revelation is
Coming! Pestilence stalks in the darkness!
Rome bombs the Holy Land! Famine is come!
The end will be where the beginning is!
All throughout the Kingdom of Heaven is
Within us, we create it around us.
Our actions today can call light to light.

Have you heard the Good News? Angels are
Crying! Cornered Beasts roar in defiance!
Trembling at our charity and peace!
The rich quake with fear at the poor, the sick
The homeless, the oppressed, the refugee.
The powerful cannot hide the stains of
Ruin and despair they paint much longer.

Have you heard the Good News? False prophets are
Lying! They bray for bloodshed in the name
Of a lamb already sacrificed too
Many times! Their gruesome empire covered
In the corpses of beaten scapegoats and
Murdered white doves is soon to be torn down!
Our borders don’t have to be drawn in blood!

Have you heard the Good News? A change is now
Coming! Multitudes among the nations
Shout out for a new, fair world to be born!
We tire of this time where the few have
The many and the many have the few!
Rulers forget that the first shall be last
And the blessed meek shall inherit the Earth.

So, have you heard the Good News? Death is now
Dying! Though the Sun may go dark and the
Star Wormwood falls, we must be that shining
Lamppost on a hill, as we all build the
City where all peoples are welcome, the
Gates never shut, the Living Waters flow
Freely and the Dragon’s shadow is gone.

Week 4 Revised 1 Total 3

 

[NivKay]

A small little ditty. I've been, of late trying to reconnect with a lost Scots heritage. Anyway, this was an old poem written 16th Nov 2015 (yes, I used to date my thoughts, go figure).

This was the old version, untitled:

Between the thought of you
And my bleeding pen,
There is an impish blade, cruel.
Day by day it wears my sorrow on its brow.
When I attempt love's discourse,
my pen bleeds brine, blind.

But then, about a month ago, I translated this into Scots, and I fashioned it thus:

Ahent the thocht o ye
An ma bleedin pen,
Thare is an impish blade, cruel.
Day bi day it wears ma sairness on its broo.
Whan Ah ettle luve's discourse,
ma pen bleeds brin, blin.

I have made only minor edits. This is the latest version:

Between the thought of you
And my bleeding pen,
Between the light
And the deepening gloom
There is an impish blade, cruel.

I cannot leave my pen to sit,
Nor can I bear to harrow my flesh in sin.

Day by day it wears my sorrow on its brow,
And drinks love’s labour with bloodless rancour.
When I attempt love's discourse,
my pen bleeds brine, blind.


And in Scots:

Ahent the thocht o ye
An ma bleedin pen,
Ahent the licht
An the deepenan gloam
Thar is an impish blade, cruel.

A cannae leave ma pen tae sit,
Nor can A thole tae harrow ma flesh in sin.

Day bi day it wears ma sairness on its brou,
An drinks luve’s labour wi bluidless rancour.
Whan A ettle luve's discourse,
ma pen bleeds brin, blin..


The Scots is just there as experiment...it was quite a fun exercise.. I thought I'd put it in, for the hell of it!

 

[42BelowsBack]

A ditty I know, still @NivKay,

I saw a Sicilian man make fire by rubbing two sticks. He did so for a wise purpose in him. My bones felt the pull of fires ancient ritualistic magic. I get that when you see the Scots only version, you see this door call open. The intrinsic magic of ones ancient language pathways.

It’s Good strange; the change in positioning of, There is an impish blade, cruel. Strange in the sense that it cuts different just by shifting where the line occurs. Can’t put my finger on it? But, an avid reader of poetry I don’t need to understand everything to feel a poem breathing.

Because of your extensive loved experience of the power of language, I question, the trope bleeding pen? As perhaps an opportunity to somehow weave in Scots Celtic i.e. an ma bleedin pen. A question being how to avoid inclusion becoming gimmicky?

The ancient language fire burns bright and magical. The Scots version is easy to follow. Once one has the English language version in mind. How to position so the through light shines one against the other? That for me is the question.

Thank you for sharing all four versions.

I conclude in idle self delight. How do ones poems communicate? Through mottes and baileys built in bridges.

 

[42BelowsBack]

So I guess about a year ago I figured I’d read through the Bible just because I never have and it ended up being a really interesting experience. I kind of like all religious literature but I had avoided that one for a long time because of living in the US, but I was kinda surprised at A. how beautiful a lot of the language and imagery is a lot of the time, but also B. it’s still got some not so great stuff in it, but it’s really vastly different than the oppressively bleak view of the Old and New Testaments a lot of people in the US try to sell. And I was also interested to learn that stuff like Revelation functioned as coded resistance literature protesting against a colonialist government that had no qualms about murdering people in brutal and humiliating ways.

Anyways I wrote this mostly thinking about Palestine and CECOT but I never quite finished it. I’m still not quite happy with it but I changed some stuff and I at least finished my seven septets so some of them didn’t have only six lines anymore. And today just seemed like a good day to revisit it for a bit.

Here’s the old version

Have you heard the Good News? The Tower is
Falling! *Kairos* is come! The veil lifted!
And the Kingdom shall now be uncovered!
Today we all choose whether we wish to
Dwell in the Kingdom of the World, or the
Kingdom of Heaven, within and without.

Have you heard the Good News? Empire is
Ending! The time for action has now come!
Centurions slaughter white-robed martyrs!
Their fear palpable as they gun us down
Or throw us in pits of concrete and steel
Or ship us all over the ends of an
Earth crying out for justice and mercy.

Have you heard the Good News? Revelation is
Coming! Pestilence stalks in the darkness!
Rome bombs the Holy Land! Famine is come!
All throughout the Kingdom of Heaven is
Within us, we create it around us.
Our actions today can call light to light.

Have you heard the Good News? Angels are
Crying! Cornered Beasts roar in defiance!
Trembling at our charity and peace!
The rich quake with fear at the poor, the sick
The homeless, the oppressed, the refugee.
The powerful cannot hide the stains of
Ruin and despair they paint much longer.

Have you heard the Good News? False prophets are
Lying! They bray for bloodshed in the name
Of a lamb already sacrificed too
Many times! No amount of carnage will
Keep them from the outer darkness, only
Repentance they lie to themselves about.

Have you heard the Good News? A change is now
Coming! Multitudes among the nations
Shout out for a new, fair world to be born!
We tire of this time where the few have
The many and the many have the few!
Archons forget that the first shall be last
And the blessed meek shall inherit the Earth.

So, have you heard the Good News? Death is now
Dying! Though the Sun may go dark and the
Star Wormwood falls, we must be that shining
Lamppost on a hill, as we all build the
City where all peoples are welcome, the
Gates never shut, and its Living Waters
Nourish forever and ever. Amen.

And here’s the revised version

Have you heard the Good News? The Tower is
Falling! Kairos is come! The veil lifted!
And the Kingdom shall now be uncovered!
And Leviathan fed to us starving!
Today we all choose whether we wish to
Dwell in the Kingdom of the World, or the
Kingdom of Heaven, within and without.

Have you heard the Good News? Empire is
Ending! The time for action has now come!
Centurions slaughter white-robed martyrs!
Their fear palpable as they gun us down
Or throw us in pits of concrete and steel
Or ship us all over the ends of an
Earth crying out for justice and mercy.

Have you heard the Good News? Revelation is
Coming! Pestilence stalks in the darkness!
Rome bombs the Holy Land! Famine is come!
The end will be where the beginning is!
All throughout the Kingdom of Heaven is
Within us, we create it around us.
Our actions today can call light to light.

Have you heard the Good News? Angels are
Crying! Cornered Beasts roar in defiance!
Trembling at our charity and peace!
The rich quake with fear at the poor, the sick
The homeless, the oppressed, the refugee.
The powerful cannot hide the stains of
Ruin and despair they paint much longer.

Have you heard the Good News? False prophets are
Lying! They bray for bloodshed in the name
Of a lamb already sacrificed too
Many times! Their gruesome empire covered
In the corpses of beaten scapegoats and
Murdered white doves is soon to be torn down!
Our borders don’t have to be drawn in blood!

Have you heard the Good News? A change is now
Coming! Multitudes among the nations
Shout out for a new, fair world to be born!
We tire of this time where the few have
The many and the many have the few!
Rulers forget that the first shall be last
And the blessed meek shall inherit the Earth.

So, have you heard the Good News? Death is now
Dying! Though the Sun may go dark and the
Star Wormwood falls, we must be that shining
Lamppost on a hill, as we all build the
City where all peoples are welcome, the
Gates never shut, the Living Waters flow
Freely and the Dragon’s shadow is gone.

Week 4 Revised 1 Total 3

in My Onion opinion.

@Waeponwifestre.

I somewhat feel this exploration offers an allegoric opportunity: Via the subtle inclusion of words with dual meanings. Or through pairing back. Death is dead.

42, Thank you for sharing.

 

[42BelowsBack]

Thanks in advance. Your punch bag This poem is not hitting. Gloves off. Have at it.

Time Punched.

Day by day
Five or six hours a week?

Trying to remeber
Johnny once was a pugilist.

His mind. not him. A page
in novelistic incident.


What happened to him
in Berlin?

In huge unrelated incidents.
no matinee. His feet are kicking.

He says “let it go”
that did not happen.


Skipping everyday.
Or is he.

Drowning five or six
alarm clocks a week?

In five or six beats a minute,
—he slows to remember his life


in a ring, minute by minute
as though that makes sense?

 

[SapioSexual9]

Thanks in advance. Your punch bag This poem is not hitting. Gloves off. Have at it.

Time Punched.

Day by day
Five or six hours a week?

Trying to remeber
Johnny once was a pugilist.

His mind. not him. A page
in novelistic incident.


What happened to him
in Berlin?

In huge unrelated incidents.
no matinee. His feet are kicking.

He says “let it go”
that did not happen.


Skipping everyday.
Or is he.

Drowning five or six
alarm clocks a week?

In five or six beats a minute,
—he slows to remember his life


in a ring, minute by minute
as though that makes sense?

DING DING.

“I love you Adrian” I love that you didn’t smelly Balboa this. Then again the poem seems opportunistically thin.

‘His mind. not him. A page’

Interesting grammar. Would love to hear other’s thoughts on this?

‘in novelistic incident.’

…Rename your protagonist Johnny Novella?

Invites reader bias, to flag the background with Novella colored associations.

Skipping everyday.
Or is he.

Drowning five or six
alarm clocks a week?

Not sure… if both are needed… if one of these goes or both become one… make nine rounds?

 

[42BelowsBack]

Hey Sap,

thank you for your criticisms.

‘in novelistic incident.’

…Rename your protagonist Johnny Novella?

For purely personal reasons I don’t like Johnny Novella.
But Okay. Done. Take Two.


Trying to remeber
Johnny Novella a onetime pugilist.

His mind. not him. A page
in novelistic incident.