I’m a fraud.
The hot wax spat
on your arm,
that’s me
coming undone—
a flying feather bed
not a god…
an odd, absurd moth
should gum a shoe
and not dream
to touch eggshell blue…
I’m seeping through
you see?
I’m crunched under
just like you.
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Please tell me what you think
Sorry, you cannot respond to an archived poemReviews
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Accept my apology....
No one knows better than my wife how much of a bastard I am. Really, I feel badly. This is my olive branch. -
I usually don't comment on poems that I don't get. But I am in an honest mood today. So here I go. I didn't really get this poem. Perhaps it is a bit personal to you... for me to really gather the context and the meaning? Also... some phrases that I didn;t get... "gum a shoe" and "touch eggshell blue"
Though the poem reads well, the meaning is totally lost upon me.
. Rewarded 8
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Dark and Sad I love it.
The view from the bottom of the well. We are absurd but isn't it fun. What would life be if we were not absurb. Boring people would take themselves to seriously.. Rewarded 4
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Thanks so much...
for reading this humble little first draft. Yes, I agree, our condition on this ball of rock is quite absurd. Only friendship, love and beauty make it worthwhile. Thanks again.
B.
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i like it a lot, in particular the abstract meaning it gives out, nothing prima facie, latent is good, cheers to you.
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Thank you very much for your kind comment. All the best.
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Hmmmm...
this seemed like a rant and was quite cutesy cutting and all but somehow lacks in the "packing a punch" department. Whilst reading this I magically coined the phrase "Never wear a feather boa to a fist-fight" and found it quite brilliantly applicable to this etude of wincing manliness.
Bill, I am sorry, but I felt this was simply too "cock-tail party" jab to evoke a visceral response of the general reading public. This was however excellent at nasal elevation and fecal freshness fronting.
I think the methodology was excellent and am certain it will earn high marks from your poetry professor. It's just that it lacked oomph! Perfect methodology, but low on feeling. Needs more guts.
Why do I think so?
"I’m a fraud.
The hot wax spat
on your arm,
that’s me
coming undone—
a flying feather bed
not a god…"
The first stanza is well written, but is it applicable to the intended target? Meaning, does the target even give a shit as to fraudulence? Your line of thought connotes a strict adherence to certain applicable standards by which such fraudulence may be ascertained. One operating outside the bounds of such meticulous exactitude I would assume untouchable as he adheres to no such standard. That being the case, I doubt such target could "come undone", never having been concerned with being together in the first place. The flying feather bed bit, that was good. But again, only effective if one deemed themselves a god to begin with. No self-proclaimed god status = not giving a shit, thus making your statement null, void and immaterial to the task at hand. In passing, "the hot wax spat" has a nice phonetic roll to it that I dug, but the word "spat" is such loaded word and conveys a vitriol felt it seems only by the receiver of such spitting. It may have been more of a good natured dribble more than a "spat". Sounds like someone is taking things too seriously.
"an odd, absurd moth
should gum a shoe
and not dream
to touch eggshell blue…"
here's where you start to get all artsy-fartsy pussy cock-tail party-like with obscure over-intellectualization(I don't think that's a word) that smacks of tightly ringed lips and sphincters.
"Odd, absurd moth"
OUch!! I bet he was reeling after that one and had to go to his support group to be re-elevated from bug status.
"should gum a shoe"
This says quite clearly that you think he is beneath you, so beneath you that he is on the bottom of your shoe. This reeks of artistic classism and moreso reflects poorly upon the ranter that he feels he is so much better than anyone else. Absolutely stinks of snootery in the highest degree.
"and not dream, to touch egg shell blue"
Dreams, schmeams. Again, you're thinking he's dreaming about becoming like you when in all reality his greatest hope is to become the very antithesis of what you so obviously purport. All of this evidenced by your buffoonous bourgeois tone that simpers out like ill wind from a too-tight inguinal trap-door.
Egg-shell blue? Connotes the fragility of concepts so tenderly captured by nuance and writing skill. (To observe this skill, go read the talented poet Lad. He's mastered it) Nice metaphor, blue being a color representative of heaven which again reflects poorly on the attitude of the ranter that he esteems himself as a god descended from the poetic heavens to deliver us all.
Oh, but wait, the last stanza delivers you from all the aforementioned presupposed snootery saying that you lump yourself together with all other hacks just like the one your bitching on right now. Too little, too late. Nice effort, but I'm afraid your burgeoning ego shall not escape unscathed from this one.
Clearly, you feel you are better than the object of this rant. To each his own
This was a nice and well contrived effort, but was not on target and as such not at all efficacious to the purpose at hand. That purpose being the insulting of the rant's intended recipient. Which, given our past interaction, I'm guessing is me. Am I close, or have I just written this long-winded reply for nothing?
Damn, I'm probably gonna feel all stupid and reactive and stuff when you tell me this poem was just about Icarus.
Oh, well. I'll take that risk. You gotta break a few eggs to make an omelet.
Votre ami special,
Alouicious
. Rewarded 8
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Al,
I barely know how to respond. First, let me say how nice it is to hear constructive criticism and insightful commentary on my work.
Yes, this poem does lack energy and vitality. Some of this is intentional as the major thematic material is that of humility and some of it is simply bad writing; but this is what first drafts are for.
I'm sorry that I haven't been too clear. You seem to be under the belief that this poem is a "jab" at some other person, when in point of fact it speaks of myself and myself only, Icarus being only the metaphor I'm using to evoke that sense of overreaching and pride that I've brought to this forum since day one. Again, this may simply be bad writing on my part...I don't know, but I'll be sure to revisit this seeming miscommunication in my rewrite. In answer to your question "does the target even give a shit as to fraudulence?" I would have to say yes, since the target is none other than I myself, and I definitely give a shit about whether or not I feel like a fraud.
"Your line of thought connotes a strict adherence to certain applicable standards by which such fraudulence may be ascertained." Firstly, what line of thought am I presenting here? This is a poem, not a philosophical treatise, so rules of strict logic, even if being made, wouldn't apply. The statement "I'm a fraud," doesn't denote or imply any argument being made but merely a subjective feeling about myself. I guess, if you're feeling frisky you can argue with me about whether or not I'm right to feel like a fraud, but the point is how well the poem supports this emotive statement not whether it is actually right for me to feel this way.
"One operating outside the bounds of such meticulous exactitude I would assume untouchable as he adheres to no such standard. That being the case, I doubt such target could "come undone", never having been concerned with being together in the first place." Are you talking about the poem here or your own belief system? Because I don't believe my poem has anything at all to do with the ideas or comments made above; but maybe I'm wrong. Perhaps you can be more clear and use the actual text to support whatever it is you're trying to say here?
"In passing, "the hot wax spat" has a nice phonetic roll to it that I dug, but the word "spat" is such loaded word and conveys a vitriol felt it seems only by the receiver of such spitting. It may have been more of a good natured dribble more than a "spat". Sounds like someone is taking things too seriously." "Spat," is actually meant here as a sound and not a past-tense of "spit;" but, again, this may just be bad writing and I appreciate you pointing it out. Again, I have no idea what you're talking about, but no worries, you seem to and that's all that really matters.
"here's where you start to get all artsy-fartsy pussy cock-tail party-like with obscure over-intellectualization(I don't think that's a word) that smacks of tightly ringed lips and sphincters." Really? What exactly is obscure here, or are you just having such a good time with the ad hominems to make any sense? I'll take my ribbing like the next guy, but you have to make sense first.
"OUch!! I bet he was reeling after that one and had to go to his support group to be re-elevated from bug status." Again, the target of my poem is me, and, yes, I have gone to some support groups. I've even paid a shrink; but what does any of this have to do with the actual artistic quality of the poem? You seem to be more interested in proving to me that you can be aggressive than in actually being constructive in your aggression. I appreciate having balls, but make sure you aim straight or you'll miss the mark every time.
"Egg-shell blue? Connotes the fragility of concepts so tenderly captured by nuance and writing skill. (To observe this skill, go read the talented poet Lad. He's mastered it) Nice metaphor, blue being a color representative of heaven which again reflects poorly on the attitude of the ranter that he esteems himself as a god descended from the poetic heavens to deliver us all." You know Lad doesn't love me anymore, why do you always have to bring this up, do you enjoy hurting me? You bitch. Honestly, where are you getting this stuff? I'm happy you're a creative reader, but I challenge you to find anywhere in the text where the claim is made that I or anyone representing me is a poetic god descending from the heavens, yada yada yada, anywhere, in anything I've written; but even if this were so, the point is to judge to poem on it's artistic merit and not judge the poet.
In closing, I'm sorry you feel my poem does such a poor job conforming to the rather unsupportable ideas and conceptions you've brought to it.
I do thank you for being honest and direct, though.
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You know what, Bill?
I tried to be all cutesy with innuendo and such but apparently I have missed the mark. I thought my closing statement of:
"This was a nice and well contrived effort, but was not on target and as such not at all efficacious to the purpose at hand. That purpose being the insulting of the rant's intended recipient. Which, given our past interaction, I'm guessing is me. Am I close, or have I just written this long-winded reply for nothing?"
would clarify my interpretation of your poem but apparently I have gone far afield in my long-winded effort.
Let me simplify:
I thought this poem was a rant directed at me in keeping with the feisty tone of our most recent(and most enjoyably good humored) literary interaction. Hence I critiqued it as such. I should think that from this viewpoint my "rather unsupportable ideas and conceptions" are not unsupportable at all, but rather pointed and poignant being as how I thoroughly addressed each of my points in specific detail, carefully crafting each to be completely congruous to my aforementioned theme. That theme being that this is a rant directed at me.
Dammit, Bill. I'm very disappointed in you. I went to all that trouble to write you a special poem with "Bilbo Slayer" and you go and selfishly write a poem about yourself. You need to think about giving instead of taking, Bill. I need you to contribute to this relationship in order for it to work. I feel like crap, Bill. And it's all your fault. Write me a poem, Bill.
Oh, and yes...I am a bitch, aren't I? I'm sorry to pour salt on old wounds with the Lad comment. That was most unsporting of me. But I take issue with your critique of my critique in saying that my ideas and conceptions are unsupportable. You do this at the end of your comment like a cheap shot in the dark and then run. The thesis statement should initiate your argument, then you must flesh it out and prove it by your ensuing evidence. Instead, you rambled and then puked out a half-assed thesis statement at the end and just said "bye, now". I don't appreciate that, Bill. I expect more from you as I sense a great ironic genius behind your writhing ball of venomous vitriol. Let it bark, Bill...let it bark.
Al
p.s. I enjoy this immensely. Most people just cry and call me a poopy-pants. But you stick it out like a man and I enjoy our communications immensely. I mean that with all the sincerity I can muster, Bill. I enjoy trading comments and the occasional barb with you. It has done wonders to brighten my literary day as I was becoming quite tired of the perfect politic of this poetic posting place. It's nice to have you here, Bill and I'm glad you stuck around. I told you we'd be bestest buddies, didn't I? -
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You are certifiable, you know?
I just don't know half the time how to take you, if you're being serious or tongue-in-cheek or what, you know? What I do know is that I like you, Al. Keep it coming. -
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I'm breakin' you down, Bill.
Keeping you on uncertain footing so I can mold you into my sycophantic poet puppet. My devious plan appears to be working...hahahahahahahahahahhaahhahahhahahahahahahahahahah
Al
p.s. you're alright, too, Bill. Great to have you here.
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love it, sometimes i feel the very same way
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Thanks for reading...
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Hey
This one seems to be a personal poem. I don’t really understand what the poem is about but I like the poem. It flows well and it seems to have a hidden meaning. It would be nice if you could explain what you were thinking when you wrote this.
Bill
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Ummm
I was feeling a bit dejected after a clash of personalities, where I was a bit too top heavy on the self-importance.
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billbrando
July 24, 2007
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