395- Can you guess what I'm reading?

[paperleaves]

I wait, en route to my fantasies, railing the curves of the Rhine--
voluptuous, her enticing form a bold accompaniment to the manor
that inspired legends
in the parlor of Lord Byron. his visage, visible for only a moment, a thin shadow
with a poet's lips and eyes that could swallow the misery of each of his acquitted lovers, and
a self-replicating stupor relieves me, for
under my quill, inspiration sprouts, between the barren trunks of God's garden
planted in old soil there are not vegetables and grains but tissues, organs, bones, enamel--
a seeded lawn of reincarnate, rather, and with my boots strapped tight
and my hair in a loose knot, I, the poet, am prepared to channel all the great buried noises
of the Earth. I will speak for those who can't speak, their muffled exacerbations under quilts of
grass seed and rubble, bones and bandages, blood and red wine, excrement and sweat and tears and
ah! alas, my destination. I pack up my carry-on, throw on my overcoat, guzzle the last of my whiskey
and trudge to the hostel where I'll
write this all down

[Bar22do]

I wait, en route to my fantasies, railing the curves of the Rhine--
voluptuous, her enticing form a bold accompaniment to the manor
that inspired legends
in the parlor of Lord Byron. his visage, visible for only a moment, a thin shadow
with a poet's lips and eyes that could swallow the misery of each of his acquitted lovers, and
a self-replicating stupor relieves me, for
under my quill, inspiration sprouts, between the barren trunks of God's garden
planted in old soil there are not vegetables and grains but tissues, organs, bones, enamel--
a seeded lawn of reincarnate, rather, and with my boots strapped tight
and my hair in a loose knot, I, the poet, am prepared to channel all the great buried noises
of the Earth. I will speak for those who can't speak, their muffled exacerbations under quilts of
grass seed and rubble, bones and bandages, blood and red wine, excrement and sweat and tears and
ah! alas, my destination. I pack up my carry-on, throw on my overcoat, guzzle the last of my whiskey
and trudge to the hostel where I'll
write this all down

Was that not delivered unbridled, with one huge breath... it is as if I felt your heart still bumps fast and jumps in all directions! I will read your poem later after work, Paper, so this is only to convey my stupor... and, oh - this is pure poetry!

[PrinceMyshkin]

"Pure poetry," as Bar observed above, but I'd amend that, respectfully, to read "pure paperleavesery!" Who ventures to read any one of your poems without falling at least a bit in love with you?

There is something about the final lines about hurrying to write this down that makes me want to laugh a great, healing, cosmic laugh!

[Virgil]

:D What a pleasure to read! :D

[qimissung]

Marvelous!

[paperleaves]

Thank you so much, y'all! ^_^
it is a different style than I'm used to, but I liked writing it & it came naturally.


love
Kate

[wehngsmast01]

Very imaginitive, words have a way of finding the beauty in anything!

[Bar22do]

I, the poet, am prepared to channel all the great buried noises
of the Earth. I will speak for those who can't speak, their muffled exacerbations under quilts of
grass seed and rubble, bones and bandages, blood and red wine, excrement and sweat and tears and
ah! alas, my destination.

I read your poem again now that the new day has begun and I feel the above is a promise there won't be one more noise buried anymore!.... and indeed, Lord Byron must have merged his with some of your powers; for could he find a better den?

[paperleaves]

Thank you, wehngs! And thank you, Bar :) I love your comment. I'm reading Shelley's 1818 version of Frankenstein and learned a lot about Lord Byron and felt a connection to his idyllic abode and I suppose you could say he was a huge inspiration for the tone of this poem. Along with Shelley, of course. ^_^

love, in kindness,
Kate

[cogs]

this is wonderfully impulsive... history has new eyes.

[firefangled]

I wait, en route to my fantasies, railing the curves of the Rhine--
voluptuous, her enticing form a bold accompaniment to the manor
that inspired legends
in the parlor of Lord Byron. his visage, visible for only a moment, a thin shadow
with a poet's lips and eyes that could swallow the misery of each of his acquitted lovers, and
a self-replicating stupor relieves me, for
under my quill, inspiration sprouts, between the barren trunks of God's garden
planted in old soil there are not vegetables and grains but tissues, organs, bones, enamel--
a seeded lawn of reincarnate, rather, and with my boots strapped tight
and my hair in a loose knot, I, the poet, am prepared to channel all the great buried noises
of the Earth. I will speak for those who can't speak, their muffled exacerbations under quilts of
grass seed and rubble, bones and bandages, blood and red wine, excrement and sweat and tears and
ah! alas, my destination. I pack up my carry-on, throw on my overcoat, guzzle the last of my whiskey
and trudge to the hostel where I'll
write this all down

Paper, this is a departure for you, but you are still definitely there. My very favorite line was "...channel all the great buried noises of the Earth." I loved the state of how you describe I, the poet, "...my boots strapped tight and my hair in a loose knot..." Then, there is something very captivating to a poem written in real time, locating the reader most intimately with the moment of your inspiration, as if we were there watching as you took in this scene.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Paper, this is a departure for you, but you are still definitely there. My very favorite line was "...channel all the great buried noises of the Earth." I loved the state of how you describe I, the poet, "...my boots strapped tight and my hair in a loose knot..." Then, there is something very captivating to a poem written in real time, locating the reader most intimately with the moment of your inspiration, as if we were there watching as you took in this scene.

How fortuitous, in that I composed my response to your Frankenstein poem before I encountered your use of "you are still definitely there"

[MorpheusSandman]

Initially, I was rather underwhelmed by it as a poem but as I reread I realized that this was actually superb poetic prose! I think it captures something all of us as poets/artists feel and that's that deep connection with the greats that came before us and how what inspired them equally inspired us and all we can hope is that we find a relatively equal means of expressing ourselves. Nicely done, paper. :)

[paperleaves]

Thank you all! I really appreciate all of your honest and helpful comments :)


love
Kate