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Array ( [sid] => 181586 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Canvas [time] => 2015-08-16 01:32:26 [hometext] => My first more long-form poem; feedback appreciated. [bodytext] => I will beat a broken path
Through fields of unearthed
Daylight daydreams,
Rare and new and simple,
Fledgling bits of roughshod
Wanderings glued on
Canvas to carve
In size and shape,
Stepping over perfect
Trapdoor nonsense,
Seizing endless time and mind
Alike to cut the
Nine to five,
Grasping straws
Of midnight air,
Piecing together sense and
Tattered highway fragments of
Patchwork painted skylines,
Blank walls with blank landscapes,
Rocky shores of
Unsung heroes' gold
Thrown to the masses
Waiting with hands lifted,
Crying over empty roads
And rundown homes dosed
In rows of picket paradises,
Glaring at glaring reflections
Of inner beauty doused with
Twisting ingenuity,
Marching up and down to
Clear consciences muddled by
Sloppy secondhand crimes,
Swinging thoughts like swords
Too dull to try again,
Jumping hoop after endless hoop
Hoping to feel some sting or prick
Or pain,
Having lost sight of truth under
Wireless agendas,
Digging deep into monotonous Ecstasy wrapped in dubious bargains
Of questionable intent,
Slipping silently away from Civilization,
Terrified and thrilled to be
Taking steps toward troubled Salvation from
Clinging vines weighed down by
Hollow distress,
Looking back and forth from
Fabled fame to gimmicked wealth,
Licking dripping lips and missing the Bigger picture,
Slinking sadly back from failed
Attempts to glean a cleaner future,
Saddled instead with deeper doubts
Tattooed to addled minds
Begging for relief and
Beating a broken path. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 214 [topic] => 73 [informant] => Wordsmith123 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => abstract )

Canvas

Contributed by Wordsmith123 on Sunday, 16th August 2015 @ 01:32:26 AM in AEST
Topic: abstract

I will beat a broken path
Through fields of unearthed
Daylight daydreams,
Rare and new and simple,
Fledgling bits of roughshod
Wanderings glued on
Canvas to carve
In size and shape,
Stepping over perfect
Trapdoor nonsense,
Seizing endless time and mind
Alike to cut the
Nine to five,
Grasping straws
Of midnight air,
Piecing together sense and
Tattered highway fragments of
Patchwork painted skylines,
Blank walls with blank landscapes,
Rocky shores of
Unsung heroes' gold
Thrown to the masses
Waiting with hands lifted,
Crying over empty roads
And rundown homes dosed
In rows of picket paradises,
Glaring at glaring reflections
Of inner beauty doused with
Twisting ingenuity,
Marching up and down to
Clear consciences muddled by
Sloppy secondhand crimes,
Swinging thoughts like swords
Too dull to try again,
Jumping hoop after endless hoop
Hoping to feel some sting or prick
Or pain,
Having lost sight of truth under
Wireless agendas,
Digging deep into monotonous Ecstasy wrapped in dubious bargains
Of questionable intent,
Slipping silently away from Civilization,
Terrified and thrilled to be
Taking steps toward troubled Salvation from
Clinging vines weighed down by
Hollow distress,
Looking back and forth from
Fabled fame to gimmicked wealth,
Licking dripping lips and missing the Bigger picture,
Slinking sadly back from failed
Attempts to glean a cleaner future,
Saddled instead with deeper doubts
Tattooed to addled minds
Begging for relief and
Beating a broken path.

Copyright © Wordsmith123 ... [ 2015-08-16 01:32:26]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: Canvas (User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on Sunday, 16th August 2015 @ 03:13:22 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

Dear Wordsmith,
I very much like the prose and relate very much to what you are saying here.
You know I quickly thought back to my fifth grade
class taught by a Mr. Sissoms who was middle aged and mostly bald at the time. He made the class recite poetry and I remember fondly how he promoted a reading club, I always read more books and turned in the most papers on each book. He would always rub his hands together each morning, the friction would make a sound, sort of like saying, wake up, it's time to get down to business.
But what I remember most about his class
was looking at a picture he hung on the wall, it was a cabin that stood next to a lake.
And that is the picture in my mind that I still hold
even today when I am stuck in a rut or in the confusion
I sometimes face during a long work day.
It's where I am, spiritually, I suppose.

Great write!

Peace!

Re: Canvas (User Rating: 1 )
by JamesStockdale on Monday, 17th August 2015 @ 03:08:50 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

I think the poem is great.
A constant flow that is hard to achieve with such a wordy write. That said I notice that many here will not take the time to read anything longer than five to six stanzas or so.

James

Re: Canvas (User Rating: 1 )
by ladyfawn on Monday, 7th September 2015 @ 12:46:24 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

sooo beautiful! wow and wow, this was amazing!

hugs n' love nessa

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