[slap_j]

I tried my hand at another poem and this time I wrote in a Maya Angelou comtemporary story telling style. It may not be rife with imagery, but it's a poem none the less.

---

A truncated prose
My father he spoke
He tamped down his pipe
And puffed out blue smoke

The leather was cracked
On the chair where he sat
His eyes were deep set
And blind as a bat

Forever, forever,
And many a day
My father would sit there
And wither away

He remembered dead faces
Buried and gone
Indignant with life
But father lived on

And rainy one Monday
The pale rider did come
My father looked up
And cocked his old thumb

And still I remember
The old story goes
My father, he spoke
In a truncated prose.

[meatfinger]

A truncated prose
My father he spoke
He tamped down his pipe
And puffed out blue smoke

"My father he spoke" is awkward, but I can't see a fix for it close at hand. Other than that, the "truncated prose" idea is interesting.

The leather was cracked
On the chair where he sat
His eyes were deep set
And blind as a bat

Both "deep set" and "blind as a bat" are horribly cliche. You know this. Bad Joshy.

Forever, forever,
And many a day
My father would sit there
And wither away

All these straight rhymes over and over again gives it a Dr. Suessy feel. Nothing too profound here. "wither away" is also cliche.

He remembered dead faces
Buried and gone
Indignant with life
But father lived on

I suggest changing line 2 to "Both buried and gone", for rhythmic unity. line 3 is quite nice.

And rainy one Monday
The pale rider did come
My father looked up
And cocked his old thumb

Pale rider? 'Nuther cliche.

And still I remember
The old story goes
My father, he spoke
In a truncated prose

I have no comment for this one.

Not bad, Josh, but it's not "I spoke to a fellow".... It needs some work.

[slap_j]

I know, it is cliche. But I like it for some reason.

[Carly.]

Originally Posted by meatfinger

"My father he spoke" is awkward, but I can't see a fix for it close at hand. Other than that, the "truncated prose" idea is interesting.

Basically, this is all I agree with concerning Chris' response to your poem. You might try "Is how father spoke" instead of "My father he spoke," because that wording is definitely one that requires work to comprehend the meaning. Poetry is better when you don't have to work very hard at understanding the main point of what the poet is trying to get across. Of course, everything is based on interpretation, but you know what I mean.

Other than that, I think Chris is overreacting (no offense, Chris. I adore you and everything, but sheesh...). Cliche's are cliche's for good reason! They're true and they're classic and when I read this poem, it reminds me of how often those cliche's are seen in the world, in the physical characters of people, and in the hearts of everyone.

I think it's great. I like it a lot. Kudos to you for doing the Maya Angelou thing. Right on.

And I'm spent.

["BrooksB"]

You should never try to emulate Maya Angelou, that would be my only critique.

[slap_j]

Originally Posted by BrooksB

You should never try to emulate Maya Angelou, that would be my only critique.

Why is that?

["BrooksB"]

Well, for a couple of reasons:

Firstly, copying someone's style or anything is something I'll always criticize.

On a more personal note, I think Maya Angelou is a poor poet. This is my main reason.

[slap_j]

Originally Posted by BrooksB

Firstly, copying someone's style or anything is something I'll always criticize.

Everyone copies someone else's style. It's almost impossible not to.

On a more personal note, I think Maya Angelou is a poor poet. This is my main reason.

I agree. I don't like her poetry. I just felt like doing this.

["BrooksB"]

Originally Posted by slap_j

Everyone copies someone else's style. It's almost impossible not to.

True, but my criticism lies in the way you copied. You set out to copy.

I agree. I don't like her poetry. I just felt like doing this.

fair enough