Garden

[Alexander III]

Walalalalalalalalalalalalal

Fear life not death !

[hillwalker]

From what you have told us in the past I trust this is another off-the-cuff rendition of a stream-of-consciousness session. There's much to be said for using such an approach to forming a poem - I often use it as a creative starting point to garner some images and phrases that could fit together into a final piece.

There are certainly some vivid lines here describing derangement and the incarnation (no gardening pun intended) of horror.

BUT..... I think there's too much to absorb for the reader. After a bit it's like skipping through a newspaper just reading the headlines. You get a feel for what's happening but really don't perceive any depth to it. And the short repetitious lines near the end are far too melodramatic to be taken seriously in my humble opinion.

This piece certainly provides some wonderful images and lines that could act as thescaffolding for a great poem - but as it stands I don't believe it is the finished article.

Best wishes, H

[Alexander III]

I have made adjustments to the poem, as the original did not feel quite right:



Watch me piss upon the sown seeds of madness…my garden of laughing brimstone shall burst forth !
Oh little pretties, grow, grow, grow…
Rise and bleed your intoxication upon what is seen…howl at the crimson moon under a beast laden midsummer night

I am mute
I am deaf
I am blind

The red, orange and green petals puss out and dance…as hanged men in the gentle breeze of laughter
The petals twirl in tarantellas of merry delirium…teach me your voice…

I wish your voice !
I shall no longer utter a syllable till I have found your voice… my voice…

I am dead !

Taunts of the night water my pretty little garden of madness
Nourishing its roaring paws as they trample upon the ashen soil…watch it scatter the thoughts of reality as eyes fading under the cover of dark…who's dark?

Let there be no more dark my pretties !

The visions sing
They moan
They chant
They cry

My garden shall light up the unseen…the deranged flowers of the gaping moon shall cast their silver upon the gray
dawn of the senses…

My pretties you have killed me !
I can live true sensation when life is dead !

The shrieking flowers bite my visage…tearing the dull poison from my eyes…gouging the skin till it bleeds and my soul is numb from all that is was and shall be…

Madness is Beauty
Madness is Truth

[hack]

I like it.
It is good use of stream of consciousness.
An inner voice that won't be stilled, shouting,
it is the angst and the insanity that roams
in all the places where there are men.

[Buh4Bee]

I like the change to the second one. I think it is more coherent.

I can't quite express what I want to say. The poem is about madness, but the rhythm and tone don't match what one may find when reading about madness. The poem seems to be written from a calm perspective, stoned, or in an exhausted state, but not from a state of insanity. Then the narrator is dead- not sure how that fits in with my ideas. Sorry, would like to say more.

[MorpheusSandman]

The second one is more cooherent and I slightly prefer, but I must admit that I found my self kinda laughing at the melodrama and the whole plant theme reminded me of something a Batman villain like Poison Ivy would say! But, as always, there's some very vivid, striking lines. I wonder how much further you can take this Stream-of-conscious mode of creation...