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Click hereMourning the Loss of Poetry
(After Pasternak's "Definition of Poetry")
The squealing track noise
of sanitarium shouts,
The crying wet nerves,
And disjunctive Howls,
of excited cataclysm,
Culminating in a cacophony of cackles
...Bursts through
The fading nightmares
Into Surreal Dreamscapes
Complete with tinkling chimes
Of fast-approaching wet dawn
Red with dewy kisses
Throbbing in blue reeds
Chirping with morning chants
The Rhythmic euphonium
Of Kaleidoscopic soundscapes
Vibrating in spectral shifts
...Stumbles, Creeping, Clawing
Into the impending dusk of
distorted batrachian croaking
Flanked by the scraping
exoskeletons of grinding
arthropod masses
In Black Passion
Screaming Lust-Murder,
Bleating Eros shattering glass
of distended eons
...Evaporates lithely
Into symphonic
Color gradients
Glowing in embers
Of anticipated dawn
Cycling, in spirals
Through inharmonious
Nightmare sickness
Only to awaken in
Dim light, mourning.
Madness in words. Ditch the midline capitals. They're distracting and make the lines choppy. I am one of your fans. Keep perfecting yourself. Only dead things stop growing.
and feel you are in the dressing room, trying on styles. All the poems are good because you obviously can write, but I'm not sure I get the point unless the point is that you are on your own journey searching for a voice that's you. :-)
This at least is indentifiable, if you want to present horror, it can be (easier) done with contrast, too much you present apathy
The squealing track noise
of sanitarium shouts,
Personal quirk, I hate poetry with Poetry in the title
100 anyway