devotion https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/t2425 Runboard| devotion en-us Fri, 29 Mar 2024 06:43:58 +0000 Fri, 29 Mar 2024 06:43:58 +0000 https://www.runboard.com/ rssfeeds_managingeditor@runboard.com (Runboard.com RSS feeds managing editor) rssfeeds_webmaster@runboard.com (Runboard.com RSS feeds webmaster) akBBS 60 Re: devotionhttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p17115,from=rss#post17115https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p17115,from=rss#post17115A child with a secret unaware. A serious persona able to pull onward celestial strings, curious circumstance. Able to twirl and prance on cue, to state with a glance, to unassume. This starts off a set of paradoxical steps. A child with a secret and then that unaware. Unaware of what. Unaware who. The one who has the secret should be aware of it but here is not. The secret is almost there like a plant inside the child. Its potentiality almost. And the serious persona made em think of how children do have that look of concentration when they are playing alone. Fate here is not something like a telos but what the child is pulling onward. Like a kite. Ready to always unassume, change Love the humor in “human tricks/linguistics” and “receive what is sound to honor” the entire stanza works off what seems to be an extended poetic take on some of the concepts in linguistics. Grim portents, fairy tales of the signified. The next stanza also shakes things up. A series of questions and received answers, it seems to be an ironic take on psychoanalysis itself, on its notion of the good life. Where everything has a cause and everything is received wisdom. The last strophe is an anthill. A model of what epistemic hours we keep in daily life. The set parameters and directed ruminations. The devotion seems to be of children, of us citizens of the world and linguists toward the rubbish heap we make of the world.   Lovely nondisclosed_email@example.com (arkava)Sun, 22 Mar 2015 11:00:23 +0000 Re: devotionhttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p17111,from=rss#post17111https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p17111,from=rss#post17111Libra, The initial impact of the poem is this roiling mystery, the sad children looking for vermin. They are to make the streets clean for the inhabitants of the town. There's a horror in what they put in the stew. I had to make some logical jumps to link the Jester to the final stanza. Terreson's pointing out the Latinate words might be something to look at. The latinate words might work in the areas where you are building up a sense of horror. Not sure. How would Poe do it? Food for thought. It was a good journey going through the poem. Zaknondisclosed_email@example.com (Zakzzz5)Sat, 21 Mar 2015 07:01:48 +0000 Re: devotionhttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p16997,from=rss#post16997https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p16997,from=rss#post16997Always the metaphysical inclination in your poetry, Libra. Or so it seems to me. Here, as in much of your poetry I've read, what works for me is your voice. What doesn't work for me are certain word choices. Persona, perambulations, perameters, words that do not speak to my whole soma, as I think poetry does, at least when at its best. Still I can respond to what you're after. Terenondisclosed_email@example.com (Terreson)Sat, 18 Oct 2014 14:18:50 +0000 devotionhttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p16981,from=rss#post16981https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p16981,from=rss#post16981Devotion     A child with a secret unaware. A serious persona able to pull onward celestial strings, curious circumstance. Able to twirl and prance on cue, to state with a glance, to unassume.   Jestar, demigod disguised as troubadour wanders Earth to learn human tricks, linguistics. Sources music as communication. Someday soon, when runes align with stars and signs, grim portents, mask dissolves. Wisdom sings. Those who listen, respond in apt devotion, clear resonance, decrypt sage clues, engage in sacred quest, accept reward. Stories harvested over ages, night to night reveal exaltation. Filtered gifts of layered sleep. Receive what is sound to honor. Longer tales soar and weave. Keep close touch to melodies that compel elegance.   Where do we learn cruelty? Indignities impressed in our youth, imposed as we grow. Where do we learn beauty? Purity -- full interplay conscious engagement directed vocation   Once upon a time in a village of yore, there had been bequeathed a home for wayward children that the streets be clear of filth when the fine folk made their daily perambulations. In the wee hours the wee ones were expelled to hunt nonhuman vermin, the occasional mad man. These became their supper stew to maintain servile strength. Children who outgrew set parameters or acted unruly could too become stew. Or they could sneak away from the hunt to wherever their story might be made their own.nondisclosed_email@example.com (libramoon)Sun, 14 Sep 2014 14:41:11 +0000