Sydney Poetry

A social site for poets in Sydney.

inglorious one

i love this poem, yet i find the ending to be missing something i cannot seem to change it because is there for me. It probably needs a word change in a couple of places, but sometimes the roughness of a piece adds life to it

He died in the fall they say,

I wasn’t there to relive it,

He had died in my heart long ago,

They almost knew it

I didn’t expel my thoughts soon after

Just as he could not on his last breath,

One could not forget the laughter,

He couldn’t not even in death.

God give me the strength to forgive

God give me the strength to forget
I infused my brain with optimism

Frazzled it with euphemisms

You, How dare thee,

Inglorious one

You, Fucked me with your spite,

You were never the chosen son,

Black sheep of the family

Dragged me to my end

I kept for years inside myself

But now I cannot pretend

You are gone my vile lecherous one

I bled my own blood for you,

Richest river of red,

A crimson trail it left for you,

Now dead, you stay undead.

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Comment by Dermott Ryder on May 16, 2012 at 13:18: Blue Person:

Your questioning approach suggests significant internal confusion. Are you a road without direction, a dish without a recipe, a faith without a deity, a faceless, nameless, boneless, eyeless, chickenless egg?

Perhaps you should print this tentative work then place it in the bottom drawer of your desk to germinate for three months, thereafter view it through different eyes, extract the essential truths and disregard the unnecessary embroidery.

Why do you start every line with a capital letter?

Some quotes to brighten the day.

Self analysis is the mother of introspection, and I hate my mother.

Sigmund Arthur Freud – Accountant, Poet and political mystic.

Life presents a mournful picture to all holders of half empty glasses.

Aubrey Bandersnatch – Philosopher, Poet and semi-permanent inebriate.

God, of course, is an Englishman; his only son, David Niven; the Holy Spirit, Gordon’s Gin.

Alexander of the Isles – Sanitary Engineer and Pretender to the throne of Scotland.

Am I an umbrella full of sick left under the stairs after a party?

The Scaffold – From Fresh Liver.

Regards

DR