Insouciant Rebellions 10/11/17
What the Sky Sacrificed
The blue, almost transparent sky.
The grass, so different, with its green silkiness
Its rigid lines
Can they touch?
Would they dare?
Could the sky use its fluffy cloud-like hands
And reach out to the stern grass
Touch the greenness of the grass
The bugs eating at it
Eating away
And could the grass touch the sky?
Can it grow so high?
Reaching its maximum size
Reaching out to the wonderful sky
With its bipolar attitude
And difficult emotions
Blue one day
And pale the next
Happily, orange another
And angry red forever
Joined by the moon
And sun
They see
They are the eyes
And the eyes are they
And if the grass
Touched the sky
He risks so much
For they sacrifice their lives
Mere humans survive
But love holds, eternally
Unless a price is paid
Can they touch?
Would they dare?
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Author:
Raven Souci (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 11th, 2017 20:10
- Comment from author about the poem: Read and take it however you want
- Category: Love
- Views: 20
- User favorite of this poem: DeviLove.
Offline)
Comments1
There’s a vagueness in your poem that I can’t quite seem to reconcile. What exactly is the sky sacrificing here? I personally find fault in the premise that the reader should define the objective of the poem (read it and take it however you want). You, the poet, are in the drivers seat. Wouldn’t it be artistic of you to want to take us to that clearly defined destination that you have envisioned?
Yes I should, but then again this isn't a well thought through poem. I just put whatever I could type up and published it. I didn't care if it made sense or not. That may seem selfish and it may come out the wrong way, but I'm fine with that.
In your own defense; your spontaneous writing method probably falls within a contemporary “school of writing” poetry that eschews traditional form, the imparting of meaning, and/or any semblance of order for that matter (sign up for the daily e-mail poem at “Poets.org” to get a taste of this; especially poems written by MFA professors in the more liberal New York, universities). I personally expect more out of poetry and am deeply saddened by the dictatorship of relativism that have hijacked our young and precious artists. We could all make a valiant difference with what we choose to put down on pen and paper (excuse my metaphor).
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