Uncreated Conscience

[S.Daedalus]

Uncreated Conscience
I go to encounter for the millionth time
the reality of experience and to…to what?
That I go, no one can question.
That I experience, which one of us doesn't?
But to what does it amount?

I go to encounter for the millionth time
the reality of my life.
A twenty minute commute to work,
donning weariness and apathy
not unlike the cruelest of straight jackets,
leaving the arms free to work whilst restraining the mind.
Such a mockery!

I go to encounter for the millionth time
that coldly analytic room.
Science experiments abound, paired with eager faces.
Mine is not one of them.

The room used to be like an open field;
the air filled with electricity, excitement,
not unlike a warm summer night
whose skies struggle to restrain a mighty storm.

I wait for inspiration to strike, and sometimes it does.
but rather than the brilliance of a lightning bolt,
it comes as more of a fire cracker.
Painfully artificial, uninspiringly lackluster.

I return for the millionth time
having experienced another day
waiting for Hesse's ferryman to rekindle the flames of that forge.

[Jack of Hearts]

1. Nice screen name, Stephen Hero.

2. You're going to find people here who will like this poem quite a bit- probably the "real" poets. For this reader's part, he feels this poem could use a real roll in the mud, some textured earth to grind between one's fingertips.





J

[Delta40]

I like how you capture the humdrum of everyday sameness especially with the comparison between a lightning bolt and a firecracker. However I agree with JoH that it needs some 'texture' to make it more relatable.

[S.Daedalus]

Thanks for the criticism. I've always admired poetry, but I've never really given writing it a try before this except in high school classes (and those assignments are rarely taken seriously). Would you care to elaborate more on what you mean by "texture"?

[Delta40]

well speaking from a grass roots perspective, the last three stanzas inovke imagery through showing whereas the earlier stanzas have a more telling feel to them and don't do the rest of the poem justice. This is only my opinion and you will find that you cannot please all of the people all of the time and somebody is just as likely to 'read' something into your poem that I have failed to see. Another thing to keep in mind is that some Lit-Nutters have alot of what I call technical knowledge about poetry and make excellent critiques. I respond chiefly from the heart. It didn't press my button in its entirety although there is no doubt you have great potential and I would encourage you to regularly post on Lit-Net as it is always a joy to watch others develop in their craft. I also recommend you post your own reviews on other people's poems. This helps them and it will improve your own skills too.

[hillwalker]

This is quite deep - and not my particular cup of tea normally but I enjoyed the almost Kafkaesque scenario.
I did, however, find the opening stanza a little too pretentious. Asking philosophical questions to oneself in this way seems a little vain.

The following 2 verses do a better job of actually revealing your thoughts as you lead the humdrum life - though again ending the second verse with 'Such a mockery' is allowing your personality to invade the poem when you're not welcome. Most readers will see the irony of the situation without having to have it spelt out in this manner.

But then stanzas 4 to 6 are almost like a different poem - an unexpected change of persepctive that is quite noticeable.

You have a talent for exploring inner conflict through evocative language and imagery but perhaps you need to find a way to make both halves of this poem gel in order to make it more effective.

Interesting first post - well done.

H