Adolescent09
07-08-2007, 11:50 PM
I'm trying on an entirely new style. I have put lots of metaphors/allusions into this poem. I don't know if they can be discerned in one read...
Anti Micro-Wrath Protection
It’s your duty to know the danger...:
it’s as big as small as
big in all society... or
as big as small as big
is in society.
(Either way it’s bad. Get it. You need it. You know it.) TM
-----
I’m couchant by my yester-week hide,
guaranteed seclude
from micro-wrath:
a euphemism of societal wrath, its worst at that,
brewed with macro in micro version,
taught to dig at the notch of seam
to angle in and tritely wedge.
“No fear of that”, I gleam
All my being is in with nocturnal dispatchers:
nocturnal as in alive and alive they are,
their little ‘whirl-woos whirl woos’
diurnal as well to keep in check, peace impingementers
(A typo it may be but it says so on the box)
It’s topped with mini sky-line revolvers,
with their ‘toom...!,toom...!,toom...!’s’
little little men
in (is that army blue?)
With their pantheon of pincer knives
So all is armed and ready and quiet.
Armed, ready and quiet,
armed, quiet and ready,
quiet, armed and ready
quiet, ready and armed...
arm.. quite... read....
But Hark!
A nuance in the air. A little little
pincer toter said it heard..
and many many
little little pincer toters threw a spotted
speck at a whatever-it-was in the midst.
And whatever-it-was happened to be
a thing of which my hided fence
kept me free. Let this fence
(Did I mean defense?) be described
sparingly.
It wavered, croaked, cracked,
then broke,
and I saw in night just as well
as if in bright of day
my $800 down the drain.
Then saw my folly (Or confronted it?)
as I became the victim of sleep in
imagination's quilt:
How can man pine for the death
of what he feeds?
@Adolescent 09
7/08/7
Anti Micro-Wrath Protection
It’s your duty to know the danger...:
it’s as big as small as
big in all society... or
as big as small as big
is in society.
(Either way it’s bad. Get it. You need it. You know it.) TM
-----
I’m couchant by my yester-week hide,
guaranteed seclude
from micro-wrath:
a euphemism of societal wrath, its worst at that,
brewed with macro in micro version,
taught to dig at the notch of seam
to angle in and tritely wedge.
“No fear of that”, I gleam
All my being is in with nocturnal dispatchers:
nocturnal as in alive and alive they are,
their little ‘whirl-woos whirl woos’
diurnal as well to keep in check, peace impingementers
(A typo it may be but it says so on the box)
It’s topped with mini sky-line revolvers,
with their ‘toom...!,toom...!,toom...!’s’
little little men
in (is that army blue?)
With their pantheon of pincer knives
So all is armed and ready and quiet.
Armed, ready and quiet,
armed, quiet and ready,
quiet, armed and ready
quiet, ready and armed...
arm.. quite... read....
But Hark!
A nuance in the air. A little little
pincer toter said it heard..
and many many
little little pincer toters threw a spotted
speck at a whatever-it-was in the midst.
And whatever-it-was happened to be
a thing of which my hided fence
kept me free. Let this fence
(Did I mean defense?) be described
sparingly.
It wavered, croaked, cracked,
then broke,
and I saw in night just as well
as if in bright of day
my $800 down the drain.
Then saw my folly (Or confronted it?)
as I became the victim of sleep in
imagination's quilt:
How can man pine for the death
of what he feeds?
@Adolescent 09
7/08/7